House of Cards
by tikvarn
Summary: "Why? You wanna come with me?" - Andy and Sam go undercover. Begins mid-2.10 "The Best Laid Plans".
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! I've got a new story for you. It's a little different than what I've done before but I'm really excited about this one and I hope you will be, too! It starts in the middle of 2.10 "Best Laid Plans" and goes from there. Everything you know about Brennan from the show remains true - I'm trying to stay as close to canon detail as possible but take it in a little different direction.

Finally, margie311 and rookiebluefan89 both deserve a huge thank you - they have been so incredibly helpful and encouraging to me as I've slowly been piecing this thing together.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Rookie Blue_.

* * *

><p>"So this undercover operation with Boyd, I mean, is it dangerous?"<p>

Sam watches her walk back over to him, raises an eyebrow. "Well they don't usually do deep cover on people with parking tickets, unless you've got a lot of 'em… then it's a joint meter maid, ETF thing. Why?" he asks, scrunching up his forehead. Then, way more casual than he feels, "You wanna come with me?"

He expects her to scoff and maybe roll her eyes a bit. Instead, serious as ever, she answers, "Just thought maybe you could use the back up." Shrugging, her lips begin to slide into a smirk, "I heard last time you were in deep cover you got chased down and tackled by a girl." At the end she makes this face like they're back in high school (he's in high school, she's probably… well, hopefully she's started kindergarten) and she's just doled out an unrecoverable diss, daring him to respond to _that._

There's another car coming so he eyes her as she makes her way to other side of the road, tries to fight a grin. "Overeager rookie," he claims, easy even though he's pretty sure she's flirting with him. "Didn't want to make her look bad on her first day."

Andy just laughs, and that's how it starts.

"I'd come with you," she says later, arms folded against the cold and leaning back against the cruiser, trying to look confident and nonchalant. "I could do it."

Sam looks down at her, wants to ask if she's serious because – well, it's possible he wasn't entirely joking. "Oh yeah?"

"Well, I mean," she glances at him and then away, back down the road, "You'd be there."

_You'd be there. _He wonders for a second if she knows how much he likes to hear that; if she pulls it out whenever she wants something from him or if she actually means it. He's staring at her, mouth gaped open in a way he can't really help, and when she looks back up at him she smiles kind of shyly and shrugs – so, maybe she really did mean it. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Sam coughs into his hand to clear the lump in his throat. A plan is forming in his head, Jamie Brennan was a family man, but he can't… he doesn't really want to go there until he knows –"McNally…"

"Course," she says, blowing her bangs off her face and huffing, "Boyd hates me. He'd never allow it."

"He doesn't _hate_ you." Sam has no idea why he automatically defaults to reassurance. Boyd does hate her though, for sure. It's not going to be easy.

Andy snorts like she doesn't believe him. "Yeah, okay." She tucks her hands tighter up under her arms and watches for the next car, totally oblivious to the whirlwind of emotion she's sent him into, as per usual.

The thing is – he's not even sure he _wants _her to go with him. It's a hell of a lot more dangerous than anything they've done before and Brennan never discriminated based on his victim's gender. He's not sure he wants the responsibility of that - not sure he wants her having anything to do with a guy like Brennan.

Of course, she'd probably punch him in the stomach (he'd be lucky if it was a punch in the stomach – he saw her knee a perp the other day; guy'd gone down like a rock) if she knew he might not let her come along because it could be _dangerous. _Danger was like catnip to McNally - she couldn't get enough of it, ran right into burning buildings and storage lockers without a second thought.

He stares at her again, completely surprised and yet somehow… completely not, that stubborn streak she's got in her that he loves and hates in equal measure. "Andy," he says after a minute, quiet so she'll look at him, lean in closer to hear him better over the wind, "Would you really want to go?"

She considers it for a moment, lips pursed and eyes narrowed like she's trying to decide between hot chocolate and one of those caramel drinks she likes so much. In the end she nods, "It'd be nice to get away. Do something different for a while."

Sam sucks in a breath and steps back. "Getting away from something isn't a good reason to go under," he tells her, ready to drop the whole idea – wipe his hands and go on with what he was doing.

Andy quirks an eyebrow and tips her chin down. "Really?" she says slowly, ducking her head conspiratorially. "So, um… why're you going again?"

* * *

><p>"I think you're going about this the wrong way," he tells Boyd later that night, sitting in the SUV outside of his house. He's thought about it all day; vague ideas and plans that suddenly became much more concrete when Boyd showed up on his doorstep. Things are happening faster than he was told they would - about three weeks faster - and he's only got one chance to pitch his idea.<p>

"Oh yeah?" Boyd's fiddling around with a cellphone, entirely uninterested.

"Look, for all we know, Brennan's left the life and even if he's back, he's probably trying to stay under the radar." Sam presses his lips together and shakes his head. "Running heroin through his warehouse is just gonna piss him the hell off."

It's a common enough scheme, Sam's run it a couple of times before – bad guy finds a buddy with a similar background, thinks he can trust him and starts opening up – but he's got a hunch it's not gonna work with someone like Jamie Brennan.

Boyd tilts his head from side to side, reluctantly reconsiders. He's a higher rank, detective, but Sam gets the impression that the guy will listen to him when he talks. "What're you thinking?"

Sam lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in and proposes, "We work the family angle, give Brennan someone he can relate to that way. Young couple with a past that they're getting away from, trying to make a better life for themselves. She can work in the warehouse, too. Maybe in the office."

Boyd's shaking his head before Sam even finishes, "We don't have anyone ready to go. And you are not _young, _hate to tell ya."

Sam ignores that last bit. "I know someone," he says confidently, trying to push the images of what a drill can do to a person's skull out of his mind. "She's ready."

Boyd snorts, "If it's McNally you can forget it right…"

"It _is_ McNally," Sam interrupts him, suddenly feeling defensive. He can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, which he doesn't really get, but he's stopped being surprised by his body's reaction to that girl a long time ago.

"Uh uh, no way," Boyd's arguing, head swinging, "Absolutely not. That rookie has screwed up one too many…"

"That _rookie_," Sam says, talking over him and emphasizing _rookie_ with an edge of challenge, "Is my partner and I'm telling you… she's ready. She _can _do this. Remember the Landry's?" Boyd's eyes cut over to meet his and Sam shrugs, points out – "She saved both our asses."

"Yeah, after landing them in hot water in the first place." Boyd's tone has changed – gotten meaner, harsher, almost like he's snarling; it's the same one he uses whenever he talks to McNally.

"You and I both know she didn't do anything wrong," Sam says, leaning back against his door and settling his arm along the windowsill. He's anxious – tremors running through his body like they do anytime he gets ready to go under but different this time, somehow. Sharper, maybe. He tries on a blank expression, like the idea of McNally joining him doesn't affect him one way or the other, and hopes Boyd buys it.

"This is a hell of a lot bigger than _the Landry's,_" Boyd claims, "And that was one night. This could take _months. _She's never been under before…"

"Everyone's gotta have a first time," Sam tells him easily, holding his hands out, palms towards the roof of the truck. "And I'll be with her."

Boyd chews his lip, still shaking his head and looking around the truck, anywhere but at Sam. "No way, buddy, not gonna happen. Brennan is a _professional, _okay, he's not some junkie dealer down on Dundas that she can flash her tits at and get what she wants, okay? This guy is big time and there is no way I'm letting some rookie cop, a year on the force… "

"Almost two years, actually."

"Two years," Boyd corrects himself, puts on a show of rolling his eyes. "Doesn't matter, there's no way I'm letting her blow this thing up because you have a hard-on for her. Do you even _remember _what happened last time you were in deep cover?"

"No," Sam deadpans. "What happened?"

Boyd just looks at him, thoroughly unamused and actually a little bit angry, like he's personally offended that Sam's trying to make this happen. It was a rhetorical question, but Boyd answers it anyway to make his point - "She blew the entire operation for you… eight months man," he says, like maybe Sam's forgotten, "Eight months."

"It was her first day," Sam argues. He's settled it with himself, honestly doesn't blame her anymore. "And I _was _running away from her."

"Well, that's not gonna happen this time, I've got too many guys that have worked too hard and too long to let her just come in and…

"First of all, this is a completely different situation than that was," Sam says, starting to get a little irritated that Boyd's not being an easier sell. "We'd be on the same side so no one's going to be arresting the other person. And second - look, I have _trained _her, okay? She may not have much experience but she has the most of any rookie we've got right now. She knows what to do and how to handle herself."

"Maybe you think she does because you've got special-issue McNally blinders on, but Brennan's gonna see through her in two seconds flat, and when he does…" he trails off ominously and then pitches his voice low and quiet, like he's actually trying to get Sam to buy that he's worried about McNally, "Do you know what he'll do to her if he makes her?"

Sam nods. He knows, he _does _know, the thought of it actually makes him sick to his stomach but he's not just blowing smoke up Boyd's ass; he _actually _thinks McNally can handle it, wants to see her try. Wants to be there with her when she does. "Yeah, I know."

"And you're willing to risk that… not only what he'll do to her but what he's gonna _do to you,_ because once he makes her your time will be up buddy, you'll be finished," Boyd warns, words sharp. "You're willing to risk all of that because you can't be away from this girl?

"That's not…" Sam breaks off and shakes his head. "That's not it."

Well, that's not totally it.

Boyd stares at him, incredulous. "You're an idiot," he spits. "There's no god damned way I'm letting this happen, so forget it." He makes a noise in the back of his throat like he's disgusted and shakes his head one last time.

"Well," Sam tries one more time, goes for broke, "Look, if you want me in on this thing – "

That gets his attention. Boyd flings his whole body around in the seat, stares at him in disbelief for a moment. "Tell me that's a joke," he demands.

Sam holds his ground. "The family route is the way to go and with a guy like Brennan, having a partner to work him with is just smart." Boyd starts to protest but Sam pushes on, "It's built in backup, even with the cameras and the wires, you guys aren't gonna be there fast enough if something goes bust." He pauses, shrugs like he's resigned, and then admits, "I need her for this thing."

Boyd checks and sees that Sam's serious, unwavering – he's doesn't say anything for half a second and then he turns back around and slams his fists against the steering wheel a couple of times, swearing loudly and repeatedly. Sam just raises an eyebrow, waits for him to work it out. Finally (_finally, _Sam was actually starting to worry about the damage he might cause) he calms down and after one last punch, rests his head against the wheel and takes a deep breath. "My contact can only get you one job."

"I'll get her a job," Sam hears himself say before he even thinks about what might be involved in that. "No problem."

Boyd lifts his head, looks hard at Sam for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching. "If you're doing this because you're sleeping with this girl – "

"Uh," Sam's eyebrows go up in a challenge, "I'm _not_ sleeping with her." Never did he think he'd be happy that that was the truth.

Boyd doesn't miss a beat, "Because you _want _to sleep with her, this is not your opportunity to get her in some love shack courtesy of the city when there is an actual case that needs to be worked and a man that I would _very _much like to see go to prison."

Sam thinks about shooting a glare over at Boyd and then thinks better of it. He stretches his legs out, nice and casual. "That's not what this is," he says, running a hand through his hair, scrubbing a bit at the back of his neck. Then, gruff like it annoys the absolute _shit _out of him, because it does really… sometimes it _really_ does, he continues, "Look, McNally's got this gift for getting people to talk. She'll keep going until you start talking just to shut her up. It's irritating as hell out on patrol but put her in an interview room and your perp'll be sobbing out his life story in no time. She's," he waves his hand in the air, "I don't know, she's sympathetic. People respond to her. _Brennan," _he states, pointed, "Will respond to her." He waits a beat and then adds for good measure, "Trust me."

When he looks back over, Boyd's chewing on the inside of his cheek like he's actually considering the idea. "Fine," he finally grumbles, giving in but sounding like he'd rather go swimming in a pool of molten hot lava, maybe take center stage in front of a firing squad, than agree to what he's about to agree to – "Fine. Call her. She better be ready _tonight _though_, _we're not holding this thing for her."

Sam fights a grin as he dials the familiar number, does it quickly before Boyd can change his mind.

"Hello?" Andy answers – thankfully, she's not one to ignore unfamiliar numbers. Sam usually ignores phone calls, familiar or not.

"McNally," he says, propping his elbow up and looking out the window. "Hey, it's me."

He's not sure why he just expects her to know who _me _is but she must because she asks, "Sam?"

"Yeah, listen," he glances over at Boyd, who gives him a _let's get this over with _look, "How fast can you get to my place?"

Andy let's out this laugh that he doesn't really understand – full and pleased and a hint of teasing, "I'm, like, thirty seconds away," she tells him, "The taxi just turned down your road."

He sees the cab at the end of the street, coming towards them. Before he can stop himself he asks, "Why?"

"Didn't you…" she pauses for a moment and when she starts talking again he can hear the hesitation in her voice, "I mean, didn't you get my message?"

"No, I don't have my phone on me," he tells her, pushing the passenger door open.

"All your lights are off," Andy remarks. "Are you even home?"

"No, look, I'm outside, I'll meet at you the cab." Sam climbs out, holds a finger up to Boyd and mouths "One minute" to appease the glare he receives_, _and then rounds the back of the SUV so he can cross the street and meet her as she gets out of the cab. He presses the button to end the call and holds the door open as she pays the driver. "What're you doing here?"

"I just, uh…" when she finally steps out of the cab and faces him, her eyes are wide and uncertain. She steps towards him, hands going up to his chest and leaning in like she's about to… and Sam just _stands_ there because he really has no idea what she's doing or what she's doing _there_, at his house, and the night's already thrown a couple curve balls his way and his reaction time is a little slowed. It doesn't matter though because all of a sudden she's noticing the phone in his hand and her eyes are narrowing suspiciously and she steps back before she touches him, demanding, "Whose phone is that?"

Sam takes a deep breath and nods towards the SUV. "Boyd's here," he says. "The UC got moved up."

Andy glances over at the truck and then back at him. "Moved up?" she repeats, almost squeaking it out. "What… what do you mean? I mean, when do you go?"

It sounds like she already knows the answer, but he tells her anyway, "Tonight."

"Tonight? What about three weeks?" She asks, voice rising. "You were supposed to have three weeks before you left! Isn't that what you said earlier?" her hands fly to her head, like she's have trouble taking it all in. "God, just… tonight? Really?"

It's… well, it's not the reaction that he was expecting from her. He half expects her to grin, punch his arm maybe and wish him luck ("Try not to get tackled by a girl this time" – he can practically hear her say that) but not… definitely not to get upset about it.

Seriously though, what the hell is she doing at his house in the middle of the night?

It's really not the time to get an answer to that particular question though, so he tries to shove it to the back of his mind. Maybe later that night, he tells himself, when they're safely tucked away inside the cover apartment, he can bring it up again.

He realizes Boyd can see the whole conversation taking place and because he honestly has no idea what's going on with McNally – the last thing he wants is for her to do something that might make Boyd go back on his decision – he takes hold of her arm and waits for a car to pass before leading her across the street. She doesn't protest, which is unusual, just lets him push her into what he hopes is a blind spot behind the SUV. "Tonight," he says, letting go of her so he can brace his hands on either side of her head, fingertips on the cold glass of the windows. "Really."

"Sam…" she whispers, small and quiet, and her eyes are red and she's blinking furiously like maybe she's… Sam can't quite tell if maybe it's the cold or not, the wind is bitter and cutting right through his jacket so conceivably that _could_ be it, but she definitely looks like she's trying not to cry. "We… _you_ were supposed to have three weeks."

Her voice is so small and she won't meet his eye, keeps looking over his shoulder. "Come with me," he says, not letting it be a question.

Her eyes snap to his. "What?" she asks, losing the _t _at the end as the breath rushes out of her like she's been hit in the chest. She collects herself, he can actually see her do it – the way she visibly pulls herself together with a small shake of her head, and then tries to continue, "What? No, _no, _Sam, I can't…"

Sam lets out a heavy sigh and reminds her, "This afternoon you were ready to go."

Andy huffs, crosses her arms in front of her chest. "This afternoon was _hypothetical_."

"So?" he asks, coaxing. He's not going to bully her into it, he's really not, it's just… he's pretty sure she's gonna say yes if he can manage not to screw up the pitch.

"I can't go with you," she insists, shaking her head.

He notices that it's a _can't _not a _won't, _so maybe if he can just figure out – "Why not?"

"Because…" she sputters, glancing around. "Well, first of all, Boyd would never let me. That guy _hates me - _"

"Already talked to him and got him to agree to it," Sam tells her. "Wouldn't have called you otherwise."

"Well," she says, just throwing out excuses, "I've never done deep cover before."

"First time for everything," he volleys back. "You've done undercover, it's not that different, just… longer."

"Well, I just, this isn't – " she starts to stutter again, not making any sense.

"What?"

Apparently there's something super interesting about his shoes because that's where her gaze has landed. "But… just… I can't… _Sam…_"

She's just kind of spazzing around, saying words but not stringing them together to make any kind of coherent sentence. "McNally," Sam says, low and quiet – the voice he uses to steady her out in the field when she gets overwhelmed (he used it earlier that day, "McNally, you've been trained, you know what to do" – it seems like a lifetime ago).

She finally looks up at him and there's fear but also a little bit of trust in her eyes and he lets himself believe for a second that she's actually gonna go for it. "This is a _big deal_," she says, which – _yeah, _it is and he would very much like for her to be there for it - "This isn't like…" she pauses, eyes darting around as she searches for an example but in the heat of the moment she can't find one, "I mean, what if I mess it up? I've done that before, I screwed up eight months…"

Sam cuts her off. "You won't mess it up," he assures her, putting his palms flat against the windows which moves him forward a couple of inches. He can feel her cold fingers curling at his waist under his jacket but she doesn't try to push him away, just kind of holds him there, like maybe she needs the closeness more than the actual _words_. Sam tries not to read into it. "Look, McNally, this isn't life or death…"

Her eyes snap to his like he might have touched on something important. "It could be life or death," she insists, halfway to hysterical, "If something goes wrong it could very well be life or death."

"How is that different than any other day?" Sam asks.

She cocks her head to the side, acknowledging his point, but then comes back with, "Yeah, but this is like – I mean, you're pretty much putting your life in my hands. You said it yourself this is dangerous and if I screw up it's your…"

Grabbing her shoulders, he forces her to look at him – she's starting to overthink it, he can tell, and that's really the last thing he needs to happen, "I wouldn't have gone to Boyd if I didn't think you were ready. And I trust that you can do this Andy, okay?" He repeats himself, enunciating every syllable, "I trust you."

Andy's quiet for a moment, staring right at him, dark eyes wide and boring into his. Finally she blinks and states, "I don't even know anything about the case."

He wants to grin, knowing she's slowly giving in, but he doesn't. "I'll get you caught up," he promises, dropping his hands from her shoulders and bracketing them on either side of her again.

Her face is still tight and her express is challenging. "Well, what am I supposed to tell Traci?"

Sam shrugs. "That you're going away for a little while, I don't care." He really didn't. "Police business, she's smart, she'll figure it out."

"It's not that easy, Sam, I _live _with her and she's my _best friend,_" she says, gesturing wildly with her hands which have left his hips, piercing cold night air taking their place, "I can't just like… disappear into the middle of the night and not tell her where I'm going."

He takes a deep breath and looks her in the eye. "Yes, you can," he tells her, firmly but as gently as he can manage. He'd gone through it before, the first couple of times he'd gone under, worrying more about the people he was leaving behind than he worried about himself. "I know it's not easy, but she will understand." He takes a chance and throws in, "Your dad will too."

"Yeah, okay," she says quietly, lost in her headspace as she thinks it over, realizes he's right. "And Frank?"

"We'll leave him a voicemail," he says, calm as ever.

She bites her lip, considering. "Do you…" she finally asks softly, almost hesitantly, "I mean, do you _even_ want me to go?"

Sam snorts in exasperation before he can help himself. "Why would we be having this conversation if I didn't want you to go with me?"

It's possible it was the wrong thing to say – even in the darkness he can see her cheeks flush with color and she pulls her jacket tighter around her, defensive. "Sam, just…I mean, are you sure?"

He's only spent the last twenty minutes of his life trying to convince everyone it was a good idea; probably put his reputation, if not his undercover career, on the line by talking her up to Boyd, but… "Yes, Andy," he tells her gently, "I'm sure I want you to go." She's starting to smile, just a little, so he lets himself grin. "Whadda ya say, McNally?" he asks, bordering on smug because he's almost certain of what her answer's going to be – he's seen that light enter her eyes before. "Wanna go chase some bad guys with me?"

Her lips slowly slide into a grin and he can sense the moment it happens, that moment of decision – the stubborn set of her jaw and the way her muscles tighten with excitement. There's suddenly a buzz between them and he chalks it up to the adrenaline. "Yeah," she says, pulling on that stupidly brave face of hers, "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

Sam realizes that she hasn't even asked him anything about what they'd actually be doing, how the whole thing would work or what their roles would be, and he guess that she must just… trust him. That thought alone makes him weirdly happy. He wants to do something – hug her, maybe, pick her up and spin her around – it's just ridiculous, actually, the things he wants to do and the thoughts that are going through his head. Instead he stubs his toe against the ground and warns with a tilt of his head, "Might be scary."

Her grin widens, confident and sure, "That's what makes it fun."

The tension that's built in his chest breaks apart and it's only the fact that Boyd is sitting about eight feet in front of them that keeps him from kissing her right then, from finishing what they started earlier that night by the ambulance. She looks like she wants him to, what with the way that her chin is tipped up and her fingers are tucked into the waistband of his jeans, cold against his skin and holding him in place.

_In place _is very, very close to her. So close that he can feel the heat bouncing off of her but not close enough that he's actually touching her and he would very much like to do something about that but – "Boyd's in the car," Sam says, categorically unable to wipe the grin off his face.

Andy nods and her thumbs brush tiny arcs across his stomach. "Okay," she replies – and it doesn't help the situation that she makes absolutely no effort whatsoever to move.

Sam clears his throat and tries to force himself to take a step back. It doesn't work. "He's waiting for us."

"We should probably join him then," Andy concludes in a mock serious tone. The light from the streetlamp plays over the teasing curve of her lips.

"Right," Sam says, this time actually succeeding in stepping back. He tries to get it together, reminds himself of the very real and very dangerous job she's just agreed to work with him. "Look, Andy," he says, taking her arm as they walk back to the passenger's side of the SUV. "There's still time to back out of this if you don't like what you hear…."

"Sam - " she waits for him to look at her and when he does he sees that the teasing grin has been replaced by a look of total professionalism. "I'm in."

"Okay," he replies slowly. There's a weird moment that takes place right before he opens the door for her, an unspoken sense of _we're partners _and _we're in this together_ and maybe something else he can't quite put his finger on –

"I'm sitting up front," she tells him, ignoring the opened door and moving around him. She throws the door open and greets the man sitting in the driver's seat with a sharp, "Detective Boyd."

Sam can hear the equally sharp response, "Officer McNally." So - mutual disdain, that's always a good way to start things out. Sam lets out a sigh and then climbs into the back seat, scooting over to the middle and readying himself to mediate whatever conversation is about to take place – keep them in their own corners as they work through some of the details.

Once he gets settled Boyd catches his eye in the rearview mirror and raises a brow, questioning. Sam just shrugs and nods towards Andy, "She's in."

Boyd flicks a glance between the two of them, obviously still debating with himself over his decision, and then warns, "You guys better not make me regret this."

Sam rolls his eyes and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He's still a little concerned that Andy's gonna let Boyd get to her, gonna let him scare her off, so before that can happen - "Just give her the files."

After another moment of hesitation, Boyd pushes a handful of files at Andy. "I don't have any papers for you yet," he tells her, "Since your addition is astoundingly last minute."

"That's fine," Andy answers easily, flipping open one of the black folders. Sam watches her as she takes in the reports on some of his victims. Her eyes widen initially, almost too quickly for anyone who wasn't waiting for it to notice, but she quickly covers and adopts a blank stare as she flips through the pages.

"Jamie Brennan," Boyd explains. "Sam knows all about him but I'll hit the important stuff - bad guy, enforcer… has a power tools fetish, dismembers bodies with pliers, gets off on torturing people for days on end before he finally kills them."

Andy nods slowly, taking it in. From what Sam can tell, Boyd's attempt to rattle her failed. "These cases are all…" she checks a couple of the dates, "Five, six years old, some older than that."

"He got out of the life for a while," Sam tells her. "Got married, had a daughter, went straight. Not even a parking ticket to his name in four years."

"So…" she looks between the men and then back at Sam, confused. "Why work him now?"

"Wife and daughter are no more." Boyd says, handing her the accident report.

Andy opens it warily and then lets out a quiet, "Shit…" when she sees the torched car. "His family was in this?"

"Yeah," Boyd confirms. "Two months ago."

"Why wasn't the accident report completed?" Andy asks, thumbing the pages.

Boyd snorts and then, in his most condescending tone, says, "It was. You're looking at it."

"No, this can't be it." Andy shakes her head, holds the folder up to show Sam. "You'd never have let me get away with this," she insists, pointing to a blank spot on the report. "There's not a single witness statement, no reconstruction report… "

"Well, it's what we've got," Boyd snaps, filching the file from her fingers. "It's not important."

Sam had noticed that the report was less than complete, but – not that he would tell Andy – he agreed with Boyd. It wasn't a vital part of the case and wasn't worth worrying about.

Andy looks taken aback but lets the issue drop. "Fine, so… what's the plan?"

"Sam thinks it's a good idea to work the family angle," Boyd tells her, making it clear that it wasn't his idea to include her in on the job. "I've got a contact who can get Sammy in to work in Brennan's warehouse – Sam thinks he can get you a job there, too."

"So we're a married couple?" Andy asks, looking back at Sam. She's doing a good job playing like she doesn't care one way or the other – just looking for confirmation that she's on the right track. He nods.

"Married, down on your luck, looking to start over in the big city," Boyd tells her. "JD's got a history but he's shaped himself up for…" he waves a hand around, waiting on a name.

"Candace," Andy answers immediately.

"Candace," Boyd repeats, making a face. "Anyway, you endear yourselves to Brennan, he can see himself in you guys, starts to open up, etcetera etcetera, you know the deal. You've got exactly one week to get a job…"

Sam head snaps up and he interrupts Boyd, "Two weeks."

Boyd purses his lips in irritation and huffs a breath through his nose, but then compromises, "Ten days. If not, Candace goes to visit some sick relative back in Appleton, Wisconsin and you," he points at Andy, "Are back at the barn riding the desk until he's done. Got it?"

He's glaring at Andy, probably trying for intimidating, but she meets his gaze and holds it steady as she calmly replies, "Got it."

Sam can't help but feel a little proud.

"Alright," Boyd says, turning over the ignition. "You two can sort out your story, just make sure you hit the highlights."

"We can do that," Andy assures him confidently, pulling her seatbelt across her chest.

Boyd checks out his window and then pulls out onto the street. "Where am I going?"

"What do you mean?" Andy asks.

"To get your stuff," Boyd sneers, repeating, "Where am I going to get your stuff?"

"Oh…" Andy rattles off Traci's address and then leans back in her seat. They ride in silence for a couple of minutes before Andy discreetly turns her head back to look at Sam. When he raises an eyebrow she drops the bored expression she's been wearing since they climbed into the car and gives him a small, secret smile, eyes twinkling mischievously, before winking at him. _I'm in. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites and alerts on the last chapter! I'm really glad people seem excited for this one - I am too.

I just wanted to mention something briefly - one of the reviews I got said that it seemed like I was trying to imitate other authors. Because one person said this I'm sure others were thinking it so I just wanted to get it out in the open and address it. Like many, I've been reading some pretty fantastic fan fiction lately, a great deal of which has been in present tense. Everything I've written and most of the stuff I've read up until this point has been in past tense and so it was really interesting and different and I knew that at some point I wanted to try it out. I wrote a short little one-shot between RA and House of Cards and really enjoyed the freedom that present tense gave; I like how well the internal dialogue flows with it and I like that it's a less formal way of writing - it seems like the way the characters actually talk. One way is not better than the other, but I figured that I'd done so much the other way that I wanted to try something new. All that's to say - yes, I have been _inspired _by the style of other authors (I'm inspired by authors that use past tense, too) but I am not in any way trying to imitate them. If you feel differently, please feel free to PM me.

That said - if you didn't think that, I apologize for wasting your reading time :).

**Credit where credit is due: **Rookiebluefan89 and margie311 have really been invaluable to me - so, thanks so much to both of them.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Rookie Blue. _

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, uh, look I just wanted to say that I, I know that I've got a plan, you know, and it's a great one, but screw it, okay? Screw the plan because I don't wanna save the good candy for later anymore, you know, I… I wanna drink the champagne now and… okay, you've got three weeks, right? So, let's make 'em count. Starting tonight. I'm coming over."<em>

When Andy said, "screw the plan" two hours ago she really had no idea just how royally screwed the plan would get.

For instance, of all the scenarios that she imagined, not a single on of them had her standing outside, bouncing up and down on her toes to keep warm, while Boyd took her and Sam through the finer points of how to turn the cameras and the wire in their cover apartment on and off.

But that's where she is – bumping into Sam's shoulder every once and a while and earning a "_would you calm down" _glare from him because of it. He's in his serious copper mode – or, at least, he's pretending to be. She can tell he's pretty buzzed on the excitement too so she just widens her eyes in response and sticks her tongue out at him from behind Boyd until it's really obvious he's trying to keep himself from grinning back. He gives her a brief shake of his head and then starts paying attention again.

"Leave 'em on for tonight," Boyd tells them, shutting the breaker box the controls are housed in. "I wanna make sure the feed's good."

"No problem," Sam replies, putting a hand on her arm and moving them both back out of the way as Boyd stalks over to the door.

"Alright, again," Boyd nods over to Andy, "Since you weren't supposed to be here I've only got one set of keys for the apartment and the car; you'll have to share until I can get a copy made."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll manage," Andy says, forcing a fake smile.

Boyd reads the smile and all of its false sincerity for what it is and smirks back at her before pushing open the door to the apartment. "Here we go."

They step inside and head up the short flight of stairs, Boyd leading the way. When they reach the top, both she and Sam are silent, looking around.

The apartment is way nicer than she expects it to be – the only frame of reference she has for this kind of thing is that crappy, flea-infested shithole Sam took her to the first day they worked together, the room he lived in the last time he was undercover. Which – whatever, she was going to go with him anyway, even with the assumption that the living arrangements were going to be less than ideal, it's just nice to know she won't have to share a bathroom with the drug dealer down the hall.

She _will _have to share it with Sam though, is a thing she's just now realizing. It shouldn't be too bad - Sam's neat enough, he always hangs his towel up in his locker instead of letting it pool on the ground and his deodorant is always put back the same spot. He's an Old Spice guy, which she didn't know she knew about him until she accidently bought Luke the wrong brand. Later, when she saw the stick sitting on the top shelf of his locker she had a long conversation with herself about how a little mix-up like that absolutely _did not mean anything_.

It meant something, she realizes as she stands there, because even with a gun to her head she's not sure she could come up with the brand of deodorant Luke wore.

"This is…" Sam frowns, picks up a silver horse that sits on one of the bookshelves, "Nice. How are we supposed to afford it?"

Andy notices the _we _right away and definitely… doesn't hate it. She peels off her coat, throws it over a chair and then reaches out for Sam's.

"Well, JD was supposed to be a drug smuggler," Boyd says, tone sharp with irritation again as he watches Sam shrug out of his coat. "I don't know, maybe you've got some drug money stashed away from before you went straight." He shoots an accusatory glance over at Andy and _honestly _– at some point he's gonna have to get over the grudge he's got against her.

Andy just presses her lips into a thin smile and idly spins a random globe perched in the corner of the room, watching until it stops.

Sam walks throughout the loft, flips the lights on and off, checks out the bathroom. Andy figures it's some kind of habit or something, so she just stays where she is.

"There's only one bed," Boyd points out unnecessarily, as if it hadn't been the first thing she noticed about the place.

Sam shrugs and doesn't even bother to turn around when he says, nice and easy as if it didn't deserve a second of thought, "I'll take the sofa."

Andy raises an eyebrow at that. There's barely enough space on the sofa to sit down, much less sleep. She can only imagine the awful crick he'd wake up with and the foul mood that'd go along with it. She doesn't dare object though; at least, she won't until Boyd's gone.

Boyd shows Sam a couple more things about the apartment and then gives him strict instructions to be at Brennan's warehouse by 7:30 sharp the next morning, which leaves them exactly… six hours. He stands at the top of the staircase, gives them one last glare, eyes darting back and forth between them, and then parts with the warning, "Seriously, do not make me regret this."

Andy rolls her eyes as she hears his heavy footsteps descending the stairs, gives the globe a final twirl, and then turns on her heel. She finds Sam crouched down and fiddling with the little fireplace in the middle of the room.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Andy asks warily. It's not that she doesn't trust him, she does, she has since way back in Anton Hill's restaurant, it's just – the whole apartment is made of these wooden planks and one little spark could set the whole place ablaze in no time and Sam, by his own admission, isn't exactly a boy scout.

"Relax," Sam tells her, grabbing a lighter. He flicks a switch, clicks the lighter a couple of times and sits back on his heels as orange and red flames erupt around the logs. "It's gas."

"Oh," Andy mutters, almost to herself. At this point she has no idea what she's supposed to be doing so she wanders over to the bookshelf and runs her fingers across a couple of the titles. "_Tuesday's with Morrie_?_" _she reads, snorting out a laugh as she turns around, "I didn't know JD was supposed to be the sensitive…" she freezes when she looks up to find that Sam's watching her from across the room.

Suddenly, being completely alone with him is just… weird. It's weird in a kind of crackling tension way that seems to be all too common lately – like the little shocks that run down her spine when he accidentally brushes her arm reaching for the radio or when she bumps into him as she's wrestling someone into holding. Normally they're surrounded by people so she doesn't have to deal with what it all means but now… now they're alone.

_Alone, _alone. Holed up in an apartment with only one bed alone. Aside from their daily check-ins with Boyd, Sam is really the only person…

The reality of the situation hits her like a slap in the face; it's been a rush of adrenaline up until this point but now that she has a chance to breathe and think it over, she can't help but wonder what she's gotten herself into.

It's not that she regrets coming with him – that's not it at all – but between the almost kiss by the ambulance and the fact that she showed up at his doorstep (a fact that she's positive he's not just gonna forget about) she's just not entirely sure where they stand. A couple of hours ago she was ready to knock on his door and lay it all out there for him (lay _him_, if she's being perfectly honest – she thought they only had three weeks, it's not like she was expecting to take things slowly) but now… well, now they're _married_.

Married in what she's pretty sure is going to be the most awkward, asexual, platonic way possible.

God, their timing _sucks. _

She swings her arms back and forth a couple of times before clasping her hands in front of her. "So," she says, doing an embarrassing little finger snap thing before she can stop herself. "I guess, um… I guess we should probably get to bed then."

There's no response – he starts to smile at her, shakes his head and pulls his bottom lip through his teeth; this lazy, slow grin that he gets sometimes when he's about to make fun of her.

"What?" she demands, hands going to her hips instantly.

Sam just leans back against the table, ankles crossed, arms folded – calm and cool as anything. It doesn't help matters that his shirt is stretched tight across the muscles of his chest and he's scratching at a bicep… that mental file she's kept from the night of the blackout suddenly bursts wide open in her brain and she can't NOT remember what he felt like under her hands -

She's pulling herself together though, she has to. She's going to prove she can be a _professional_.

"What?" She demands again – less fire this time because he's working his dimples and his grin is infectious.

"Nothing," he says, "I'm just… surprised, that's all."

"Surprised?" she repeats, because apparently she can only speak in one-word sentences right now.

"Shocked, actually," he admits, shrugging. "Wasn't really sure you had it in you."

Andy raises an eyebrow, challenging. "You knew."

A look flickers across his face, teasing to significant in the time it takes to blink. Sam pushes himself off the table and crosses the room to stand in front of her. He watches her the whole way over – a paralyzing stare that keeps Andy glued to her spot. "What did I know?" he asks, edging into her personal space and making himself right at home. At some point his voice dropped a good three octaves.

And wow, okay_, _she _was_ the one that was getting a little handsy outside the SUV, fingers skimming under his shirt and seeking out the warm skin of his stomach, but they were both hopped up on endorphins then and it's different now, it's _different _to be this close to him tucked away in the semi-privacy of the cover apartment (cameras… she can't forget about the cameras), like they're the only two people in the world. Everything is so _new _and so _different _and just very… overwhelming.

Very overwhelming and suddenly suffocatingly _hot, _that little fireplace puts off more heat that she thought it would. She feels a flush creeping up her neck and hopes Sam won't notice. He will, of course he will, because try as she might she can't slip any mortifying detail past him.

It's really not fair that his proximity is making it difficult to form words, much less get them out in anything other than a squeak. Andy swallows and then narrows her eyes, "You know I can't say no to you."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise and his lips twitch at the corners. His gaze dips down to her neck, lingers there for a long second, and then lifts back up to meet hers. "Can't say no to me?" he repeats in this voice that's not teasing but not exactly… he sounds interested in the possibility, she realizes, slowly running his tongue along the inside of his cheek like he's considering all the different things he could ask her to do.

Andy puts a stop to that thought process right away. "You know what I mean," she tells him, bringing her hands up to push against his chest. She just needs some space is all, it's hard to think when he's right up on her, but he doesn't budge even an inch so she ends up taking a step back. When she looks at him again his lips are curling into a wry smile, like he's enjoying the fact that he's making her uncomfortable. "You knew if you asked me I wouldn't say no."

"I think…" Sam pauses, chooses his words carefully, "I think that you don't do anything you don't want to do."

Well.

It's not an insult exactly, it's just that the way he says it makes it sound like sometimes he really, _really _disagrees with her choices.

Andy doesn't know what to say to that so they stare at each other in silence for a moment until she goes with, "That's the truth." Pursing her lips, she tilts her head to the side, "And I want to be here so…" she trails off, lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

"Here you are," Sam finishes, a statement of fact with layers upon layers of meaning.

For the life of her she can't read his tone; has no clue what's going on inside his head, so instead of trying to figure it out she just nods. "Here I am."

His tongue peeks out to wet his lips and then he grins quickly, a bright flash of white teeth, "Good."

"Good," Andy retorts. There's another moment of awkward silence and intense eye contact and when she can't take the weird face off between them anymore she announces, "I'm gonna get ready for bed."

Sam tips his head towards corner of the room. "Bathroom's all yours."

"Okay." Andy nods again, she has no earthly idea why, and then grabs her suitcase and ends up dragging the whole thing into the bathroom with her.

Sam eyes her as she struggles with its weight. "Need some help with that?"

"Nope," Andy huffs, pulling it passed her so she can close the door, "I got it." She fumbles around for the knob before realizing that it's a pocket door and just as she's about to slide it shut she hears –

"You have said no to me before." Andy sticks her head out, looks right at him. His eyes are dark and his forehead's wrinkled, as if maybe he's remembering – "Twice, actually. You've said no twice."

Something tugs inside her chest, a dull ache that's unfamiliar and unpleasant. Since that trip back from Sudbury – leg propped up on the dashboard and throbbing – neither of them has brought it up, kind of an unspoken agreement to let the past lie.

Truth be told she's always felt bad about it; _she _was the one the followed him into the parking lot and the one that showed up at his house, so it's not like he was making unwelcomed advances at her or anything like that, really he was just going along with what he thought she wanted – God, he even tried to _talk _to her first that night of the blackout, every noble intention in the world until she pushed him back against the wall.

Her face falls and her brow furrows and when she says his name it comes out in a strained whisper - "Sam…"

He just shakes his head, stopping whatever she was going to say, and straightens his spine. "All I'm saying is… I didn't _know_ you were going to say yes."

Her mind goes completely blank and so she just stands there like an idiot, blinking at him in this stupid, inane way that's probably got him reconsidering the whole thing.

Finally, she offers him a thin, watery smile to go along with a weak nod and then pulls the door closed.

Alone, she sinks down to the floor, drops her head into her hands and breathes. In and out, in and out – slow and steady. Her hands feel cold against the heated skin of her face so she presses them to her cheeks and forehead and down to her neck, cooling herself off.

When she's finally able to pull it together, when she can't feel the drum of her heartbeat inside her chest anymore, she reaches for the zipper on her suitcase and slowly slides it open. Inside are her hastily packed belongings, thrown in while trying to explain to Mrs. Nash what was going on. Jeans and sweaters and dress pants and underwear... Sam sat on the arm of the couch while she gathered her stuff, offering helpful advice like, "I don't know, pants?" while she frantically decided what to bring along on an operation she knew very little about.

"It's not like we're gonna be cut off from civilization," Sam told her. "We can buy whatever you forget."

She looks through the clothes she assembled, thinks she can probably get away with what she's got, at least for a while. JD and Candace are supposed to be starting over so it's not like she needs an impressive wardrobe.

Filtering through her stuff, she comes up short on what she's looking for. She checks again, just in case she missed it somewhere, and then lets out a frustrated groan, squeezing her eyes shut. Realizing she doesn't really have any other option, she gets to her feet and slides the door open.

"Hey, Sam?"

His back is to her and he's at the table pulling stuff out of a duffel bag but at his name he turns, raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She swallows. "Do you um, I mean - " his eyebrow arches higher and yeah, she's being super articulate, "Do you have, like… some soap?"

"Soap?" Sam looks amused, which is just _perfect. _Exactly what she was going for.

She knows he had to go to bat for her with Boyd, is the thing; doesn't know what he had to say to get him to agree but knows it probably wasn't a walk in the park - so now it's like she's right back to her rookie days (well, earlier rookie days), when she desperately wanted to prove herself and make him proud.

Forgetting her soap, she thinks, probably isn't making him so proud. Or – maybe he kind of expects it from her, who knows.

Andy nods. "And toothpaste? I, uh… I forgot to pack mine." Her hair dryer and her shampoo – that's what she grabbed in her mad dash through the bathroom.

"Yeah McNally," he says, smirking. "I have soap. And toothpaste."

She wonders if he's purposely trying to make things as difficult as possible. "Can I borrow it?" she asks, rushing to clarify, "Just for tonight. I'll buy my own tomorrow."

"Sure," he says easily, pulling out a black canvas toiletry bag. "Need a toothbrush, too?"

Andy scrunches her nose in disgust, makes a gagging nose in the back of her throat and declares, "Gross, I am _not_ using your toothbrush." No way, no how, fake undercover marriage or not.

Sam rolls his eyes and holds up a two-pack of toothbrushes, still in the plastic.

"Oh," she says quietly, feeling dumb. Then, because she genuinely wants to know, "Why do you have two toothbrushes?"

"Cheaper that way," he tells her. "Plus you're supposed to switch it out like every six weeks so…"

Well. That's just too good to pass up. Andy feels herself starting to smile, the tension from earlier dissipating as they settle into familiar banter, "You just wanted to be prepared?"

It looks like Sam can tell she's teasing him, the way his cheeks pucker in like he's trying not to grin. "Exactly." There's a beat and then - "What?"

"Nothing," Andy says, lips curving upwards. "It just, uh… I mean I know you didn't have time to drop by the drugstore and pick that two-pack up tonight."

Sam licks his lips and folds his arms in front of his chest, patient, like he's just waiting to see where she's gonna go with this. "And?"

Andy shrugs innocently, "It just sounds like that's something you had to put some thought into." She waits a second and then continues, "Made a _plan_ for."

He's no dummy, gets where she's going right away. "Well, dental hygiene is very important," he tosses back, still fighting a grin. "Especially when you eat a lot of candy."

Andy nods, rolls back and forth on her feet. "Just the good stuff though, right?"

"Right." He lets himself smile then and Andy is oddly relieved to see it; kind of like – _sorry I said no (_twice), _but hey, at least I can make you laugh. _

Her body actually slumps with relief at the thought of it and the tightness in her shoulders drains away. She smiles back at him and it's in that moment that she realizes things are going to be okay, awkward tension or not.

Something on the table catches her eye. "Is that…" she moves closer, hand upturned and finger pointed out, "Is that a bathrobe?"

Sam chucks the toiletry bag at her, ignoring her question. "Hurry up in there," he says, nodding towards the bathroom. "We've got an early morning, we need to get some sleep."

She's undeterred, keeps walking towards the table until he physically blocks her path, hands on her arms to keep her from getting any closer. "Oh my god, it is, it's a bathrobe. You brought a _bathrobe_."

"McNally…" he warns.

"Are those _polka dots_?" she asks, laughing.

Sam sighs and then admits, "It was a gift from my sister."

As if that means she can't make fun of him for it.

It most certainly does _not_ mean that.

She files it away, already excited for the moment when she'll get to bust it out – a sly, secret, "polka dots" to shut him right up. In the present though, she relents. "Oh, okay," she says, crazy bright grin still in place. "I guess that makes it better."

"It does… just…" she's got him flustered, which she probably enjoys way too much. He takes a deep breath and then tells her, stern like they're on patrol, "Get ready for bed, McNally."

"Fine, fine." Andy turns to walk back to the bathroom, tosses what's probably a flirty grin over her shoulder as she goes. She straightens and then snickers just loud enough for him to hear, "Polka dots."

It doesn't take her long to get ready; she twists her hair up off her neck, scrubs her face and then brushes her teeth while poking through the toiletries bag Sam threw at her. The Old Spice is there, a comb, a travel pack of Q-tips, a razor, some shaving cream… absolutely nothing incriminating, which is a shame. Not that she doesn't have enough material with the polka dotted bathrobe. She giggles to herself just thinking about it – minty foam shoots out of her mouth and runs does her chin and she leans as far over the sink as she can to catch some of the mess, still laughing.

Once she's finished she pulls on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt and exits the bathroom, hauling her suitcase out with her. Sam's tossing a pillow onto the tiny little sofa like he actually expects to sleep there.

"All done," Andy announces, watching him as he throws a sheet over the cushions. She stashes the suitcase next to the makeshift closet – a rickety metal contraption that is in no way big enough to hold both their stuff – and then turns to him. "You don't actually have to sleep there, you know." Sam just looks back and shoots a questioning gaze her way, eyebrows raised. "Seriously," she tells him, in all earnestness, "It's probably going to be like, _really_ uncomfortable."

It was absurd, really, to even consider sleeping there – he'll have to sleep with his knees up at his chest and even then there probably won't be enough space. They're adults and it's not like the bed's a twin; there's plenty of room for both of them and it's really not fair that he has to give up sleeping in an actual bed just because she came along.

Plus, you know, Sam is _warm. _Like hot _furnace_ warm. Now that their little moment or whatever that was earlier is over with and her body has gone back down to a reasonable temperature, she realizes that it's actually pretty chilly in the apartment. It wouldn't be the absolute worst thing in the world to have to share a bed with him. They could probably cut down on the heating bill that way.

"It'll be fine," he says, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and the clean white undershirt he's laid out on the coffee table. "I'll just be a minute."

She refrains from rolling her eyes as he walks towards the bathroom. When she's alone she considers unpacking all her stuff and then decides against it; heads over to the bed and crawls underneath the comforter instead.

The apartment makes strange noises – she can hear the heat turning on and the clanging of the pipes as water runs through them. There's a soft crackling sound coming from the fireplace and the hum of the refrigerator is oddly comforting. Andy leans back against the pillows and just listens; tells herself that it will all be normal soon enough.

Not that anything has been _normal _lately. She was still sleeping on the couch at Traci's house, a pullout that had to be put back every time she woke up so it wouldn't take up the whole family room. Not that she was complaining, she wasn't – she was thankful for the place to crash, but it didn't exactly scream of normalcy. Even when she was with Luke – her name was on the papers, sure, but it was all his stuff.

The bathroom door creaks open, pulling her from her thoughts. Sam pads out, barefoot and sleepy, and turns the fireplace off before flipping the lights out. The apartment is bathed in darkness; the only light is a weird orangey glow filtering in from the street.

The blinds cast shadows across the bed; stripes of alternating light that run up to her waist. Andy glances around and tries to remember what's where – the new space suddenly even more unfamiliar in the dark.

"Did you set the alarm clock?" Sam asks, lowering himself down onto the couch.

It should be weird; these going to bed rituals and sleeping in the same room. There's something strangely intimate about sleeping at the same time even if they aren't sleeping _together; _sort of a shared vulnerability. She's only seen Sam asleep one time, back when she still thought he was a hardass on an ego trip – the day after an all-night poker game he threw the cruiser keys at her and told her she could drive if she promised not to talk. He nodded off a couple of times that day, head lolling back against the headrest and then over to the window. Andy thought… well, Andy didn't think anything about it. She was with Luke at the time and certainly did not notice the way that sleep smoothed the lines around her training officer's eyes or the way his lips parted just slightly, kind of like she imagined they would if he were to be…

Nope. Andy definitely didn't notice any of that.

So – it should be weird, but it's not. The lack of weirdness is actually the weirdest thing about it.

Andy shakes her head. "There isn't one, you're gonna have to use the cell phone."

There's only one phone, which means she'll be dependent on him to get them up in time. It occurs to her that it should probably bother her a lot more than it actually does.

"'Kay." She hears a couple of beeps and then the clatter of the phone as he sets it on one of the end tables. "I set it for six thirty."

Andy holds her wrist up into the light and looks at her watch. It's already after two, so she feels a little bad when she says, "Alright, so… we should probably get JD and Candace's backstory down, right?"

She really only has a vague idea of what she's doing but she figures that's probably important. Sam usually walks her through it first thing so that they can spend time getting into character.

"Probably," Sam agrees, shifting around. The fake leather squeaks as he tries to get comfortable.

Turning her head to the side, she can just barely make out his form. "Sam, seriously," she tries, "You don't have to sleep over there."

"No, it's fine," he says. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," she mutters, looking back up at the ceiling. She scoots down further into the bed and pulls the sheets up to her chin. "So… tell me about JD."

She can hear the rough snick of nails against skin and knows he's scratching at his jaw as he lets out a sigh. "Ex-con," he tells her. "Did four years in Kingston Pen for possession and possession with the purpose of trafficking, same stuff as Brennan."

Andy repeats in the information in her head, commits it to memory. "How long ago?"

"Supposed to be recently," Sam says, but not in the accusatory tone Boyd used with her. "But we'll say he got out three years ago."

"So his and Brennan's time overlapped?" She thinks back to the case file she skimmed, seems to remembers that Brennan was released in 2005.

"Yeah, a few months. But intel says that Jamie kept to himself so it shouldn't be an issue."

"Okay. What about JD? I know he was a dealer but was he a user, too?" Andy asks, chewing on her thumbnail. It makes a clicking noise against her front tooth.

"No." Sam answers. "Not for a while, at least."

"What about his family? Where's he from?"

"He's from…" Sam takes a second to think about it, "He's from Sudbury, lived there his whole life until he moved to Toronto. Mom and dad are gone, older brother still lives there."

"Sudbury, huh?" Andy grins to herself. "What was that like?"

Sam's quiet for a moment. "It's not that bad of a place," he says finally, low and soft. "All things considered."

Her grins widens as she thinks back to their road trip and the _hambulance _joke – how she'd never seen that side of him and how truly shocked she'd been at the time. Now she wouldn't even blink; Sam said dumb stuff all the time to calm her down and make her laugh – _everybody knows Zombies can't drive. _But... JD, they're supposed to be focusing on JD here. "And when he got out of prison? Did he go back home?"

The sofa creaked again. "No, he knew a buddy in St. Catherine's that could get him a job."

"And that's where Candace and JD met?" Andy asks. She stretches her legs out and flexes her calves a couple of times – the comforter rises and falls as she wiggles her toes. "They worked together?"

"Sure," Sam responds. "Let's keep it as close to the truth as possible."

_As close to the truth as possible_. This promises to be interesting. "Okay, so… where'd they work? JD can't work just anywhere, he's got a record."

"JD worked at a restaurant, started out washing dishes and worked his way up."

"To manager?"

Sam snorts and then says, "No owner in his right mind is going to let an ex-con handle his money."

Right. She probably should have thought of that. "Good point," she muses out loud. "So um, head waiter then?"

"I don't think JD's the waiter type," Sam replies.

Which – true, she can't really see Sam scurrying around taking people's orders. Still, he's not being incredibly helpful. "Well fine, why don't you just tell me…"

Sam interrupts her. "JD was a bartender."

She can picture it – Sam in a tight black t-shirt, mixing drinks while women crowded the bar to flirt with him. When she starts wondering how many of those women JD went home with she quickly ends that particular line of thought. "Yeah, that does fit better," Andy concedes. "Okay, so Candace was a new waitress. Fresh into town from the states."

"Why'd she come to Canada?"

"She came to take care of her dad," Andy answers, just saying stuff as soon as it came to her. "Parents divorced when she was little, she lived with her mom all through her childhood. When her dad got sick she moved back in with him and got a job waiting tables to help pay the bills."

"Sounds good," Sam says, yawning. "What was the name of the restaurant?"

Andy thinks for a moment and then – "Oliver's. Specializes in jelly donuts and club sandwiches." She tried to keep a straight face but winds up laughing out the last few words.

Sam chuckles, too - more of a quiet rumbling than a laugh. "He'd be honored but, uh… it's gotta be a real place. Brennan'll check."

"Okay, fine, so they worked at Montana's," Andy says, quickly thinking of a chain restaurant – something low key and inconspicuous. "Do they have one of those in St. Catherine's?"

"Yeah, I've gone with Sarah's crew before." Sarah's crew was three boys and one girl, all under the age of ten. Andy'd gotten Sam to start talking about them once and it was one of the only times that getting details out of him wasn't akin to pulling teeth. "That works for me."

"It's doesn't have the atmosphere of Oliver's, but whatever," Andy says, letting out a heavy mock-sigh, "Montana's has got good potato skins."

Sam manages a small laugh but he sounds tired. It's getting late – it really is, she can feel her eyelids getting heavier and heavier but she really wants to get this hammered out tonight. "Was JD on the up and up when he met Candace?"

"No," Sam says, "JD didn't go straight until later."

Andy twists the sheets in her fingers. "So, did, um…" she remembers their first undercover and goes from the same script, "Did JD like Candace right away?"

"JD thought Candace was annoying right away," Sam answers. "Way too perky to be a waitress with a shitty paycheck."

"Hey, Candace made _great _tips," Andy retorts. "The dads loved Candace."

"Yep, I bet they did," Sam replies, oddly quiet. Then, louder – "The moms not so much though."

Andy thinks back to Luke's mom, Mrs. Callaghan. "Yeah, probably not," she says. "Anyway, Candace thought JD was a grump right away. He was a total asshole to her the first couple of times they worked together."

"He was not…" Sam tries to defend, but Andy talks over him.

"Was too. She screwed up a couple of the drink orders and he totally sold her out to their boss."

"Well, it made JD look bad," Sam says, laughing a little. "Can't have that."

"Yeah, heaven forbid," Andy replies. She chews on her lip for a second, debating with herself about whether not she should even bring it up, but he said to stick to the truth, so – she goes for it. "So coupled with the fact that he has a reputation and the fact that he's like… _way _older than she is – " Sam snorts. "Candace shoots him down cold when he asks her out."

If it bothers him, he doesn't show it. "JD didn't ask Candace out, he asked her back to his place," Sam says. "He wasn't exactly looking to buy her dinner."

"Whatever," Andy scoffs. "He would've bought her dinner. Dessert too, if she'd asked."

Sam just hums a little in agreement. "Hmm... probably."

There's a moment of quiet, save for the pipes banging away, and she wonders if Sam's thinking back to that night outside the Penny like she is. She remembers it vividly – the humid, stickiness of the air and the way the streetlights were reflected in the pools of rainwater on the ground, how it made everything around them kind of twinkle. "Anyway," Andy continues, "Candace shot him down, which JD secretly liked…"

"Didn't happen very often," Sam interjects, clearing his throat. "Or ever, actually."

"Well it was her first week on the job," Andy says defensively. "And not only did JD have a reputation of being a bit of a badass which, you know, previous experience, but Candace didn't want to get mixed up with coworkers."

"Uh huh," Sam says. "And yet somehow she started dating the manager. Eric."

Andy feels her face flush because yes, that was a little hypocritical of her. "Well, Eric seemed like a good guy."

"Eric was a tool," Sam declares without a moment's hesitation. "JD always thought so. He tried to tell Candace but, in a move that surprised exactly no one, she didn't listen…"

"Candace thought JD was just being a punk," Andy replies. She did, too – sitting in the cruiser with him when he told her that Luke picked a new rookie every year, to be careful – she thought he was full of crap. Andy sighs, plucks at the comforter. "But then a funny thing happened while Candace and Eric were dating."

"What's that?"

"Candace and JD actually became friends," she tells him.

Sam chokes out what sounds like a surprised laugh. "JD wasn't really the friends-with-women type," he argues – probably just for the sake of arguing because that's what he does.

"He wasn't the boyfriend, hand-holding type either," she responds. There's a strange kind of confidence that comes from not being able to see his face. "Not until he met Candace, at least."

"Is that right?" Sam asks, voice totally steady, not giving anything away.

"Yeah, it is," Andy says, feeling her heart rate start to speed up. There's a tiny flutter in her stomach too, a little thrill of nerves. "And Candace found out that despite his reputation, he uh, he wasn't completely horrible to talk to."

"Oh, not completely horrible," Sam repeats. "That's nice."

Andy rolls her eyes and lifts her arm up to crook it behind her head. "He told really lame jokes but he always helped her out when she had too many tables."

"Candace whined to JD until he helped her out just to shut her up," Sam corrects her – she can't see it, but she guesses that he's rolling his eyes.

"Oh, okay," Andy says, smiling at nothing. "He stayed late with her too, if she had to close."

"There was always a reason for him to stay," Sam insists. Andy kind of wishes that she could see his face. "Its not like he stayed just for her."

"Yeah, the bar really needed to be wiped down three hundred times while he waited for her to finish filling the salt and pepper shakers," Andy shoots back.

"Well, JD took his job very seriously."

"Uh-huh," she humors him. "So, you know, eventually JD started opening up a little and Candace figured out he wasn't really a bad guy."

"It totally backfired on him though," Sam supplies. "Candace just used everything he told her against him."

"Oh, you mean like the time when he told her that he got dragged to an Alanis Morissette concert by an ex-girlfriend once," Andy guesses, "And then Candace played _Isn't it Ironic_ over the speaker system at the restaurant nine times the next day?"

In reality it was Shania Twain and her _Greatest Hits _album through the jukebox at Penny – Andy can remember the look on his face when he realized what was going on; vague disbelief but also this dark amusement. The thought alone still makes her proud.

"Yeah, Candace was always doing shit like that," Sam says. "Just to piss him off."

Andy _tsks_. "It didn't piss him off. He _liked _it," she claims. Sam just hummed again, not bothering to disagree. "And she only ever used the funny stuff against him, never the important stuff."

There's a hitch in his breathing and she's automatically taken back to that night on the side of the road, up on the hood of the cruiser and him patching up her leg, _When Sarah was thirteen – _

"That's true," Sam admits quietly. "Candace kept the important stuff to herself."

The mood shifts and gets serious all of a sudden. "Sometimes JD took Candace home," Andy says after a minute. "Helped her out with her dad a couple of times. JD, uh – well, he was really the only one Candace ever felt comfortable talking to about her dad. Like he wasn't going to judge her for it."

"JD really wasn't in the position to judge anyone," Sam replies. There's silence once again, a quiet acknowledgment of fact, but then Sam's the one that speaks first - "And where was Eric during all this?"

"Banging the hostess," Andy answers immediately. Sam lets out a surprised snort of laughter. "We'll call her… Maggie."

"I don't think Brennan's gonna ask the name of the hostess."

"Regardless, that was her name," Andy says. She feels a fresh flash of irritation start to creep up her spine just thinking about it; she's over _him, _for sure, just maybe not totally over _it. _"Eric and Maggie had a history but he told Candace she could trust him."

"JD tried to tell her he was a tool," Sam says. He's never pulled the "I told you so" bit with her so she lets it slide without comment.

She sighs noisily and fidgets around in the bed, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, Candace found out about it and it broke her heart. She thought she was gonna marry the guy but uh… it didn't turn out like that."

"Nope, I guess it didn't."

"Candace was in a pretty bad funk for a while," she says, feeling unexpectedly shy. It's nothing Sam doesn't already know though so – "But then JD took her to throw some empty glass bottles against the back wall of the restaurant."

"He was just tired of listening to her cry about it."

"Hey," Andy snaps. "She did not _cry_ about it. At least not in front of JD." Not in front of anyone, really, save for the one time when Leo was over at Dex's house and Traci kept refilling her wine glass, right in the middle of the anger stage.

"Yeah," Sam consents. "But JD knew. Also Candace had stopped slipping him leftovers so he was pretty put out about that."

"He missed sharing those cold cheese fries in the back?" Andy asks.

"He was just hungry," Sam tells her. "And broke, since he'd stopped dealing."

"Aw, he did that for Candace?"

"Well, you know. He wanted to prove that you don't have to wear plaid everyday of your life to be the good guy."

Andy lets herself laugh. It's wrong, probably, to enjoy the peek she's getting into Sam's real feelings about Luke, but she really doesn't care. "Whatever the reason… it helped," she says after she stops laughing. "Candace started feeling better. Got her life back in order. Realized some things."

"What kind of things?" He asks, a little scratchy – she can't tell if it's from being tired or… or something else.

Andy rolls onto her side to face Sam. Her eyes have adjusted and she can see him pretty well over on the little sofa. He's not looking at her as he waits for her answer; just staring straight up at the ceiling, one arm bent behind his dark head. The only indication that he might be as anxious as she is is the way his fingers are worrying the hem of his sheet. "Things like…" she pauses and tells herself not to chicken out now, "How JD was always the one that was there for her, no matter what. How he steadied her out and calmed her down when she needed it or how he would listen to her gripe about her customers after work when Eric just rolled his eyes."

"Eric never really got Candace," Sam murmurs. "Or, at least, that's what JD thought."

Andy considers asking what else JD thought, but then thinks better of it. "No. He didn't. But JD did. And uh, even with his… reputation," Andy clears her throat, gathers some of the courage she had earlier that night, "JD treated Candace better than anyone ever had. He was kinda the best man she knew."

Once she says it she immediately wonders if it's too much, starts to fret that maybe she's been wrong all this time, that maybe everything with Sam is just in her head - the heated looks and the casual grazes that last a second too long, the coffee made just how she likes it…

It takes a very long moment but then Sam asks, "Is that so?" His voice is low and strained, that rough quality it gets anytime after a shift when they've worked a hockey game or a concert venue; anytime he's been yelling all day.

"Yeah," Andy answers quietly. There's a long pause, the only noise coming from the occasional car that drives by outside, and then Andy asks, "Does, um… does that sound about right?"

The darkness is deceptive – one minute she feels hidden and safe and the next she feels completely exposed and vulnerable, like because they can't really see anything there's nothing to distract them from the words that are being spoken. It's… a little unsettling.

Sam swallows thickly, she can hear the noise it makes in the back of his throat, and finally answers, "Yeah, that sounds about right." There's another pause and then – "What did… uh, what did Candace do when she came to these realizations?"

Time to put that pep talk she gave herself in the cab on her way over to his place into good use - "She went over to JD's apartment one night after work to tell him." Andy says it quickly, before she can change her mind.

"She just went over there?" Sam asks quietly, as if maybe he's coming to some realizations himself.

Her knuckles have gone completely white from the grip she's got on her sheets and the tiny flutter she felt earlier in her stomach has turned into a swarm of bats. "Yeah, to tell him how she felt. Put it all out there."

"Put it all out there," Sam repeats it slowly, like he's thinking about how that might have gone down. Like he's wondering what exactly he missed out on. "That doesn't really sound like the Candace that JD knows."

It was a fair point; she'd spent two years patently ignoring whatever feelings she might have had for him. "Well, maybe she wanted to surprise him a little." Andy says. "Plus…you know, JD wasn't gonna wait around for her forever, Candace got that."

Sam doesn't say a word – not a single word for one, maybe two whole minutes. She slumps further down in the bed so she can get a better view of him; sees that he's pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever so often he spreads his fingers out to his temples and rubs a little there, as if maybe she's worked him into a truly fantastic headache. Finally - "Andy…"

Andy cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. "So did it work?" she asks, flipping onto her back. "Did Candace surprise JD?"

He lets out a breathless laugh – "Shocked the hell out of him."

Andy feels a smile start to spread across her face, completely involuntarily. "But he kinda knew, right?"

"He, um… he wondered, hoped a little bit maybe," Sam says, coughing. "But no, he didn't know."

She wonders what they would do if there weren't cameras, if there wasn't a wire. If they were anywhere but _here_, about to embark on what could be the defining case of their careers. What else they might say.

As it is she feels a surge of confidence at the upper hand she's got and grins wickedly into the dark. "Think they did it all night long?"

His laugh echoes through the apartment - ragged and completely, thoroughly wrung out; like something's been twisting him and twisting him and finally let him go. "Yeah, I think they probably did."

When the laughter dies, Andy lets out a quiet sigh. "We should probably go to sleep," she tells him, a little disappointed. "It's like… absurdly late." Her entire body is exhausted and heavy; the ups and downs of the day followed by the absolute rollercoaster of the night – she feels like maybe she's run a marathon while experiencing every single human emotion possible.

Still, she wonders if either of them are going to be able to sleep.

"Probably," Sam agrees.

"Tomorrow you can tell me how JD proposed," she says quietly, almost a whisper.

He doesn't respond for a second and she thinks that maybe he didn't hear her. Just as she's about to give up and make a lame comment to dispel some of the awkwardness, he speaks. "It's a good story," he promises in a hushed tone.

Her heart does a funny thing in her chest at that, something she really doesn't want to think too much about because it is absolutely not the right time, not the right time for _any of this - _what in the _actual hell_ has gotten into her? Regardless, she can't stop herself from saying, "Can't wait to hear it."

She hears him shifting around again, thinks about inviting him over to the bed one more time but then remembers the cameras and decides it's probably a bad idea - clearly she's not making rational, well-thought out decisions at this point but getting it on with her training officer _on film _is where she draws the line.

When the creaking stops and Sam finally gets settled, he says, "Goodnight, McNally. Get some sleep."

It's really not anywhere close to how she planned for the night to end but she snuggles down anyway and lets her eyes slip closed. "Goodnight, Sam."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Oh my goodness you guys, I'm sorry this took me so long to get out - I promise the next one won't take quite as long! Thank you so much for the reviews and the encouragement on the last chapter.

Thanks to rookiebluefan89 and margie311 for their help!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Rookie Blue.

* * *

><p>The first thing Sam becomes aware of when the alarm clock goes off way too early the next morning is the shooting pain singing up and down the left side of his body, starting in his neck and ending somewhere right below his ass; his body's way of protesting his sleeping arrangement.<p>

The second thing he becomes aware of is Andy, grumbling at him from across the room to shut the alarm off and using language he generally doesn't hear out of her until the last hour of shift when the coffee's run dry. He groans as he reaches out for the phone, little needles prickling his muscles as his arm wakes up, and hits the silence button.

The third thing he becomes aware of is _Andy_. _In a bed_. Eight feet away from him.

It shouldn't be a surprise him, he lost a good hour or two of sleep the night before trying to come to grips with it, but it is. _Everything _is still a surprise – he was half expecting to wake up alone back in his own bed.

His vision is still hazy but he can make out the movement of her feet underneath the comforter, pointing and flexing to stretch out her calves as she whines about how early it is. Sam's only half listening to her – there's a sleepy fog that's settled in his brain that hasn't quite cleared yet, that fuzziness mixed with dull pain right behind the eyes that only happens when you don't get even close to enough sleep. Rubbing a hand over his face, he blinks a couple of times and then takes a deep breath and pushes himself upright, suppressing another groan as his muscles ring out in protest.

He pads over across the cold hardwood floor to the kitchen and checks the cabinets for some coffee.

"I can do that," Andy tells him through a yawn, sitting up and tucking the comforter under her arms. "If you wanna hop in the shower."

Sam drops a filter into the coffeemaker and reaches for a spoon. "I got it," he says, scooping in the grounds. He looks back over at her and sees that she's pressing her fingers to her eyes. "Did you sleep alright?" It only took her about ten minutes to fall asleep after they stopped talking; he knew because that's how long the silence was before her snores stared echoing throughout the apartment.

"Probably better than you," Andy mumbles, yawning again. Her eyes are puffy and red and still heavy with sleep. Andy as she's waking up, everything fuzzy around the edges and still kind of slow, is something that he wouldn't mind seeing again. Many times, cover apartment or not –

"At least I got to sleep in a bed."

She makes it sound as if he _wanted _to sleep on the couch. It was actually the very last thing that he wanted – the night had been an exercise in restraint unlike anything he'd experienced before. Had there not been cameras watching them there would have absolutely been no way that he would have stayed on his side of the room.

Sam rolls his neck as he switches the coffeemaker on. "Yeah, well. You get the couch tonight."

Andy snorts. He guesses that she knows he's full of it, would never actually make her sleep on that thing. "Not a chance," she says anyway, raking a hand through her hair to pull out the tangles. Her fingers get snagged in the strands and she lets out an irritated sigh as she brings the clump forward and starts to work a knot.

Sam watches her for a second, still trying to process everything that she's _said_ and everything that she's _done – _hewonders how the girl sitting on the bed and futzing irritably with her messy hair has managed to turn him completely inside out.

Finally, the knot comes out and she glances up, catching his eye. For a second she looks like she wants to ask what he's looking at, her mouth even gapes open slightly, but then she stops herself and just smiles instead. "Morning," she says.

It's just – it's so ridiculously simple and routine but absolutely _none _of this is simple and routine. They're not chatting in parade or bumping into each other at the coffee station; she's sitting in a bed, all rumpled from sleep and he's standing barefoot in _their_ kitchen. Still, he smiles back. "Morning." The coffee's on and they've only got a short amount of time before they need to leave – "Do you want to get a shower, or…?"

She waves her hand. "Go for it, I'll get one later."

"Okay," he replies, nodding just slightly.

Once he's in the shower, hot water running down his back, he tries to get it together, tries to remember what he's here for. _Jamie Brennan, _he tells himself, pushing everything that's going on with Andy out of his mind and focusing on the details of the case. That works for about two minutes – enough time to get the shampoo into his hair but not to rinse it out – and then he hears the door slide open.

"It's me," Andy calls out, as if there was a chance someone else might just waltz into the bathroom while he's in there - "I'm just gonna wash my face and brush my teeth. You mind?"

Like he's going to say no. "Uh – nope," he croaks out, his voice embarrassingly hoarse all of a sudden. He hopes that maybe she won't notice – that maybe the sound of the water will drown it out.

The sink turns on and he relaxes a bit, goes back to rinsing his hair. His face is tipped up into the stream of water when he hears, "What're you doing in there?"

What is he doing? Jesus_ Christ_ – her tone is… definitely interested. Maybe a little suggestive, like she's picturing him in there and that just – "I'm taking a shower, McNally," he answers, trying to push all thoughts of her joining him out of his mind.

Andy hums and he can hear her lathering up her face. "It's just… you know, you're taking a while. Kind of thought you'd be an in and out type of guy."

"I've been in here maybe five minutes," he tells her – and obviously he's not thinking clearly because it takes him a couple of seconds to recognize that she just admitted to thinking about his showing habits. He should tease her for it, but it's already too late.

"Oh," she says casually, as if they do this every morning, "Seemed like longer."

He can't really tell if she's just trying to make conversation with him, Lord knows she likes to talk and never seems to pick up on when he's not exactly interested in chatting (or just completely ignores it, who knows) or… if this something else altogether.

One thing he _does_ know is that there aren't cameras in the bathroom and he's getting a little sick of dancing around whatever it is, whatever's going on between them. He feels a bit like everything's just up in the air and Sam is the type of guy who likes to be grounded, likes to be steady of his feet and in control. Ever since Andy showed up and literally knocked his legs out from under him, he's felt the exact opposite of that.

He gets the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and then steps to the end of the tub, pushing the curtain open. Andy's splashing water up onto her face so he waits until she's finished to say – "Andy."

Her head shoots up and she meets his gaze in the mirror, eyes widening just slightly like he's surprised her. Her eyes flick down to his chest and then back up, widening again. Which – he's got the shower curtain strategically placed so he's not like… flashing her or anything (_think they did it all night long _or not_, _he's not going to overstep his bounds here) so theoretically there's absolutely no reason for the blush that's starting to spread across her cheeks.

And it's not like she hasn't seen him halfway to naked before; that first day, the night of the blackout and every single time she's been waiting for him in the locker room when he came out of the shower, towel slung around his hips. She'd start talking right away, paying no mind to the fact that save for what felt like a very insufficient swatch of terry cloth, he was totally nude, and wouldn't even acknowledge his state of dress (or lack thereof) until he made very obvious "_turn around_" eyes at her. Then she'd just grin, spin on the bench, and keep right on talking.

Sam, on the other hand, always waited an appropriate amount of time before going into the women's locker room. Once he miscalculated and walked into a little too soon – Andy squealed like she'd been scandalized and clutched her towel dramatically to her body, telling him it wasn't a free peep show. She'd been joking, he knew she had been because she grinned like an idiot right after, but still… he always waited an extra five minutes, just in case.

When she and Callaghan were engaged, he let her come to him every single time.

But even in the foggy mirror he can tell that her cheeks are noticeably redder so – this must be something different than those other times.

"McNally," he says, his tone low and calm like she normally responds to, "Come 'ere."

She must read his expression pretty well because she hesitates for a moment and then points out, "You're naked."

Fair point but – "You're the one that walked in on me," he reminds her.

"Yeah, but, I mean," she swallows hard, "I wasn't like… expecting anything."

Sam wants to call her bluff on that – instead he just raises an eyebrow and asks, "You want me to get dressed?"

Andy quickly shakes her head – too quickly, a dead giveaway that she's trying not to let him see her sweat. "No, just… I um, I haven't brushed my teeth yet." She holds up her toothbrush as evidence, waving it around a bit.

"So brush them," Sam tells her plainly, still holding her eye.

She blinks as if she can't quite figure out what to do and then after a minute cautiously runs the toothbrush under the water, squeezes a stripe of toothpaste onto it (right from the middle, completely oblivious to the way the end of the tube is curled up) and lifts it to her mouth.

He watches her the entire time, watches how her expression shifts from apprehension to acceptance to amusement; by the time she's done she's grinning at him around the toothbrush and laughing as she spits and then swishes water through her mouth.

When she sets the toothbrush on the counter, Sam cocks an eyebrow at her. "You done?"

Andy nods and wipes her lips with a towel, still looking at him through the one clear patch on the mirror. The shower's still going and steam fills the room, making everything warm and damp.

"Come 'ere," he repeats.

This time Andy turns, face him straight on, and takes one big step over to him. When she gets near enough he reaches out for her wrist, pulling her to him – not enough to touch but just… closer.

She lets out a nervous giggle but doesn't try to pull away, just chews on her bottom lip like she always does when she's anxious or jumpy. Sam's eyes go to her mouth – the peek of white teeth under her pink lips – and then he slowly lifts them back up to hers.

"Andy – " he says, voice suddenly hoarse again.

"Mmmhmm…?" It's her turn to flick her gaze down to his mouth, just like she did beside the ambulance; they've been here before, this tentative dance of are we or aren't we – it's always stopped right before taking the plunge.

"You um…" he waits for her to look up and then he grins, breaking the tension, "You snore."

It takes her a second to process what he said and when she does she looks completely aghast, drops her jaw in indignation, and slaps at his chest. "I do not," she insists, trying to wrench away from him.

"You do," he tells her, not letting go of her wrist. "Like a chainsaw."

"Asshole," she declares, still struggling but not with quite as much fight – it's mostly just for show, he can tell. "I'm _congested. _I have _allergies._"

"Oh, okay," he says, grinning. He tugs on her arm with a little too much strength and pulls her right up against him, chest to chest. She freezes but before she can think about it and pull away he leans down, closes his lips over hers and kisses her.

It takes a second, a long second – possibly the longest second of his life – but then she lets out a whimper and works her free arm up and around his neck.

Sam's always thought that if Andy ever clued in to what everyone else had known for months (_okay_, years – and everyone does know, he's pretty sure Chris Diaz unintentionally shot him a "man up" smirk the other night at the Penny before realizing what he'd done and quickly covering with a cough) it would be one of those dam-breaking kind of moments; a rush of emotion, frantic and frenzied and hungry like the night she literally shoved her tongue down his throat as she came through his door –

That's what he's expecting here, but that's not… that's not what this is.

He's letting her set the pace, partly because he doesn't want to scare her and partly because he's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it's actually happening, and she's going slow and being careful; soft lips pressed to his, a moment of hesitancy before every shift of her mouth. He doesn't totally understand what's going on – _reserved _isn't exactly a word he's ever associated with Andy and he's never known her to hold back on _anything_ that she's wanted. Her hand is clasped into a fist against his back and her whole body is tight and tense, like maybe she doesn't quite trust herself yet, or maybe she doesn't trust _it _or maybe… maybe she doesn't trust him.

He wants to chalk it up to the fact that he's… well, he's naked. Hidden behind the shower curtain, sure, but naked all the same. Now that he's thinking about it he realizes that this was probably a very, _very_ bad idea. What he needs to do is stop, get out, get dressed and sit her down and have a nice long chat about things. Make sure they're on the same page.

That specific thought hits him like a brick and suddenly her timidity makes complete sense. As ridiculous as it is, he's spent _months_ waiting for her to get on the same page as him, he gets it – _she_ was the one that showed up at his apartment the night before, _she_ was the one that made the split second decision to join him, _she_ was the one that guided their conversation and ultimately _she _was the one that laid it all out there, told him (even in a roundabout way) how she felt. Sam was so preoccupied with trying not to absolutely lose his shit that all he could do was respond to her questions, he never reassured her or told her he felt the same way –

The truth is… he's never told her _anything. _

He lets go of her wrist so he weave his free hand through her hair and gently pull her backwards – just enough so he can look at her without going cross eyed. It takes a second for her unfocused eyes to get clear again and when she finally glances up at him she looks uncertain.

"Hey - " he says quietly, letting his hand fall down to the back of her neck, cradling her head. "Candace knows that uh…" he pauses, and dear God is this a dumb shtick, he feels eight different kinds of stupid for using it, he really does, but… whatever, there's a certain amount of self preservation he likes about it and if it'll get through to her – "I mean, Candace knows that JD feels the same way, right?"

A truly delighted smile spreads across her face for just a moment, a reaction that is so genuine and so immediate that Sam's caught off guard by it, but then it quickly transforms into something much more recognizable – her smug, teasing smirk. "Yeah, totally," she says, tongue caught in between her teeth, "He was only, like, _completely _obvious." She laughs, pulls him down to her and _then _it happens –

That dam breaking moment.

In every way that she was timid before, she's bold now; her tongue slips between his lips and her arms are tight over his shoulders, palms flat and open on his back, nails digging in.

He has to remind himself that he _is not _going to pull her in there with him – it's tempting, is it ever tempting, and she's apparently got no qualms whatsoever about pressing her body right up against his (seriously, _right_ against his – things are about to get interesting) but there's absolutely no way Sam's blowing two years of … whatever it was, for a quickie in the shower.

Her lips leave his as she pulls in air but he keeps on kissing her – sliding across her cheeks and against her temple, down to her jaw – anywhere he can get to her pretty, flushed skin.

"Sam, Sam…" she sounds urgent, like she's asking a question but he really just can't –

_Shit_, he really can't concentrate on anything but the feel of her, all soft and warm against his already overheated skin. "Mmmhmm?"

"I just – " he moves down to her neck, swipes his tongue over her pulse point and sucks, just gently at first and then when she gasps out a little harder. She draws in a deep breath and then pats her hand insistently against his shoulder, either trying to stop him or get his attention, he's not really sure - "Is this okay?"

It takes everything in him not to rock his hips into hers, show her just how okay it is – just how well it's all working for him, but through some incredible act of will he stops himself and murmurs against her, "Yeah, Andy." His thumb smoothes the neckline of her t-shirt to the side and he nibbles at her collarbone, just soft teeth and lips, feeling her out. "It's good."

"No," she says, hand planted on his chest and finger swiping at a nipple – he can feel her lips moving against his ear. "I mean, the cameras – are we okay with the cameras?"

"No cameras in the bathroom," he tells her and really, at this point all he wants to do is reach down, hitch her legs up around him and get her against the wall – the shower curtain is still between them, held up by the press of their bodies and slowly, slowly starting to slip away.

"Okay," she replies kind of dreamily, "Good." Her mouth is at his neck, planting these hot and open kisses that are sending shivers down his spine. He knows he's got to do something _right now _otherwise ten more seconds and he's not going to be able to stop himself from pulling her in with him –

His lips find hers again and he forces himself to slow things down, kisses her gently and leisurely, taking his time. She's leaning into him, body relaxed and arms tangled around him and fingers winding through his hair. It's a _good_ kiss – warm and sweet and just the slightest bit sloppy – it's like a slow fuse that's burning out. Sam tugs her closer, doesn't want it to end.

Andy just giggles, nips at his bottom lip and then pecks him a couple of times before pulling back with a sigh. "We're going to be late," she tells him, scratching her fingernails through the hair at his nape.

"It's okay," Sam argues, bending down to kiss her once more and drawing it out – he knows it's really NOT okay, if there was every a day they can't be late it's today but still… he just wants to kiss her one more time.

"Sa-_ham_," she laughs, arching her back in his arms, "You're getting me all wet."

Hand to god, he cannot stop the smirk that takes over his mouth. "Oh yeah," he says, grinning lasciviously. His fingers trail down to the waistband of her pajama pants and slip beneath, snapping the elastic against her skin. "Is that right?"

"Shut up," she replies, glaring at him. "That's not what I meant…" she leans back away from him and gestures down to her shirt – the whole front of it is damp from squeezing against him. "Look at what you did."

Except that doesn't really help her case; the wet cotton clings to her chest, outlining everything in surprising detail. Which – whatever, it's not like his body's exactly being subtle.

Sam runs his hand up her side, lets his thumb brush the underside of her breast. "I did that, huh?"

She grins, and she knows _exactly _what he's getting at, he knows she does, and answers, "Yep." Sam thinks his knees might actually give out from underneath him. They beam at each other like idiots for an embarrassing amount of time until Andy's actually the one to pull it together first. "But seriously," she says, trying to look stern as she steps back out of his arms. "Hurry up. I've got to pee."

With one last grin over her shoulder, she glides out of the bathroom.

Sam watches her go, sighs, and steps back under the water. It's gone freezing cold but he stands there for a minute anyway.

Fifteen minutes later they're in the car and on the way to the warehouse. Even though Andy doesn't have a job yet she's going with him so she can drop him off; partly in hopes that Brennan will see them together and partly because she needs the car for the day.

"My first day undercover and I get to go grocery shopping," she grumbles as she pulls into the parking lot.

"Never said it was going to be glamorous," Sam tells her, earning a squinty-eyed smirk in response. He just smirks back at her before quickly scanning the lot. A black sedan pulled in behind them and Sam watches as it pulls into the owner's spot. "There's our guy," he says, nodding over to the car.

Andy looks over and Sam can see her visibly stiffen as Brennan steps out of his car. He's wearing his long, dark overcoat and his silver hair is slicked back; if Sam didn't know anything about his background he would look like the consummate professional – perfectly groomed and suave, leather briefcase swinging at his side.

Knowing his background – well, the whole image takes on a much more menacing quality.

Andy's eyes follow Brennan as he walks towards the main offices – she looks uncomfortable but Sam stops himself from reassuring her or telling her it was going to be okay; the last thing Andy wants is to be patronized.

"Okay, so," Sam unbuckles his seatbelt, "I should probably get going. Don't want to be late."

"Right," Andy says uneasily, shifting her gaze over to him. "Well, have a good day."

Something in her tone stops him. "You okay?" he asks, hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah of course," Andy replies, tilting her head to the side and shrugging. "Just, you know… " she gives him a weak half smile before quickly looking away, "Be careful."

Sam doesn't really know how to respond to that; he fights a grin as he asks, "You worried about me?"

Andy just rolls her eyes, still refusing to look at him. Her hands have starting fidgeting on the steering wheel, rolling up and down the sides. "It'd just be nice if you wouldn't die today, that's all," she tells him. When she finally does glance over at him, he's grinning at her. "Oh, shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Sam says innocently.

"Your stupid face did," she retorts.

Sam raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. "My face is stupid?"

"Would you just get out of the car?" Andy asks, reaching over him to open his door. "You're going to be late."

He laughs a little and shakes his head. "Fine," he says. Pulling the cellphone out of his jacket pocket he tosses it over to her, "I'll call you about lunch."

"Alright," Andy replies, pocketing the phone. Outside, Brennan is balancing his travel mug as he pulls his keys out. He glances back at them and his brow furrows slightly, probably curious as to who they are. Just as Sam is about to climb out of the car, Andy grabs hold of his arm. "Wait, aren't you going to…" she puckers her lips just a little. "You know. For appearances."

For appearances. _Right. _Still, he starts to lean across the console, drawling, "You want me to kiss you?"

Andy groans and her eye-rolling muscles are really getting a workout today. "_Candace," _she says pointedly, "Thinks JD would probably kiss her before heading off to work."

"You're probably right," he mumbles seriously, already curling his hand around the side of her neck, under her hair. He tilts his head to the side and waits for her to meet him the rest of the way. Andy waits for a second but then she does it, leaning forward just enough to brush her lips against his.

It's different than the kiss this morning; it's perfectly chaste and appropriate, but there's something else there – mutual reassurance. Security. Comfort. Another one of those _"we're in this together" _moments.

Andy settles against his hand with a quiet sigh, kissing him once more before pulling away slightly.

"Okay?" Sam asks, fingers still tangled in her hair.

Andy nods. "Yeah, okay."

"I'll see you later," he tells her, shifting back into his seat and then out of the car. Before he slams the door shut he leans back in, arms braced against the roof and head ducked in between. "Hey…"

She looks over at him, waiting.

"You be careful today, too," he says, grinning. "I hear that the produce section can be dangerous."

Andy laughs, turning the ignition over.

"I'm serious," Sam insists with faux-sincerity. "Celery stalks? Asparagus spears?" He arches an eyebrow and nods, "You better watch out."

"Good-_bye,_" she tells him, sounding irritated as can be. She's still laughing though, so Sam's pretty certain he's been successful in calming her down.

"Bye," he says, winking at her before shutting the door. He turns and begins walking towards the warehouse, taking a deep breath as he steels himself and gets into character. It's only once he enters the offices that he sees Andy pull away.

The morning goes as he expects it to – his contact, Jason, the night shift supervisor, is waiting on him when he gets there and takes him down to human resources so he can fill out some paperwork. After that Jason takes him up to the warehouse and leaves him with Adam Keller, the shift supervisor.

"Alright, here we go," Keller says, giving him a quick tour of the place. He points up to two second-story windows overlooking the open floor before they get started - "That's Brennan's office and that's," he points to two more windows, "O'Connor's office. Brennan owns the place but O'Connor's second in command so…"

"One in the same," Sam finishes. They're related somehow – Sam remembers reading it in the file but doesn't recall exactly how.

"Exactly," Keller says, moving swiftly through the rows of metal shelving stacked high with supplies. "Don't be surprised if you get called up to one of their offices today to talk."

"Brennan chats with shift workers?"

"Brennan's a great boss but he's the most suspicious son of a bitch you'll ever work for," Keller tells him. "He'll show up at your place too, just get ready for that."

"Really?" Sam tries to act surprised – he's not though, everything he's read about the guy points to an overbearing control freak.

"He likes to know who's working for him. Just be honest with him and you'll be fine," Keller says dismissively. They pull up beside a burly guy in a plaid flannel shirt. "This is Drew, he'll show you the ropes today."

Drew sticks his hand out and Sam shakes it. "JD," he says, introducing himself.

Drew grunts out a greeting and Keller leaves them alone; it's not exactly mentally taxing work, mostly just loading and unloading boxes from the semis that pull up and keeping track of what's gone where. He finds out when they break for lunch and is able to give Andy a quick call.

When one o'clock rolls around Sam is more than ready for the break – manual labor on two hours of sleep is already starting to take its toll. Andy's outside waiting for him; they'd decided that it'd be a good idea for Brennan to get used to seeing Candace around – the thought was that he'd notice her and maybe start asking questions, opening up lines of communication. Not only would it help sell their story but it might help her get a job.

She hands him a sandwich when he climbs in the car. "Here you go, _sweetheart_," she says with a sickly sweet smile. "I made it just for you."

Sam leans across the console and kisses her – just because he can. He feels her smile against his lips and when he pulls back he chuckles. "Thanks, _honey_," he replies, mimicking her tone.

Andy snorts as she unwraps her own sandwich and asks, "So have you met him yet?" In the blink of an eye they slip back into their old roles; it's just like they've grabbed lunch to eat in the cruiser.

"Not yet," he tells her, inspecting his sandwich. "Did you put tomatoes on this?"

"So you could spit 'em out at me? No way," Andy replies, taking another bite. At his stare she swallows and then asks, "What? You pick 'em off every burger you eat. I'm not totally oblivious."

It's not that he thought she was _totally_ oblivious; it's just… well, he just assumed she never paid very much attention to him. Still, he doesn't say anything else about it. "Hey, what do you remember about O'Connor?"

"Mike O'Connor?" Andy asks, sucking a drop of mayonnaise off her thumb.

Sam nods as he finishes chewing.

"Business partner for the last five years. Did like a year or so for possession. His wife…" she pauses for a second, "Cindy, I think, was Megan Brennan's cousin."

_That_ was how they were related – Sam knew it was in some convoluted way. "Ah, that's right," he says. "Forgot about the wives."

"Oh, speaking of wives," Andy pushes her hips up and digs in her pocket. When she finds what she's looking for she holds out a silver band to him – "Here's your ring."

Sam slides it on his finger and then looks over at her. "Where's yours?" Andy holds her left hand up, wiggling her ring finger. On it was a single, plain, skinny little band. "Where's your engagement ring?"

"JD's supposed to be poor," she says, shrugging and seeming entirely unbothered by it. "I thought maybe he didn't get her one."

There is absolutely no reason for that to irritate Sam, but it does – it irritates the hell out of him, almost irrationally so. "JD got Candace an engagement ring," he tells her, a flare of annoyance going up his back. "He wouldn't not get her an engagement ring."

"It's not that big of a deal," Andy replies, popping a Cheeto into her mouth. "She doesn't need one."

"Well, she's getting one," Sam grumbles. And _honestly_ – whether or not Candace has an engagement ring really shouldn't bother him as much as it does. Maybe it's just the way he's pictured JD or maybe… okay, maybe it's a little bit personal. Maybe he just doesn't like the idea of her not having a ring.

Not that he's been entertaining the idea of Andy and a ring, it's just…

It's nothing. He is not thinking clearly, obviously. He blames it on the lack of sleep, really, and the warp speed that everything's been happening at lately.

It has absolutely nothing to do with remembering the _last_ time Andy had a ring on her finger.

"Oookay," Andy draws it out slowly – she seems to be picking up on his mood, but doesn't comment on it. She goes back to eating her sandwich and after a couple of minutes asks, "So, how'd she get it?"

"What?"

"How did Candace get the ring? The proposal story," she answers, tearing that last bite of her bread in half. "You said you'd tell me today."

He _knows _before he says the next thing that comes out of his mouth that it's a bad idea, but he can't seem to stop himself. "She found it in his stuff."

He hopes for a second that Andy won't understand what he meant – won't get that it's a jab at Luke's so-called proposal. No such luck though. Her eyebrows go all the way up her forehead and Sam doesn't miss the hurt that flashes through her eyes. It takes her a moment to respond, during which she just stares at him in disbelief, but when she does she purses her lips and huffs a breath out of her nose, asking – "Seriously?"

"Andy…" Sam tries to backtrack, but she already shaking her head.

"Nope." she stops him, letting out a snort of disbelief as her hair swirls around her shoulders. "Just… just don't, okay?"

"Andy, come on… it was a joke." It's a weak defense and he knows it. He thinks back to what she said the night before – _JD treats Candace better than anyone ever had – _and feels about ten times worse.

"Oh yeah, it was hilarious," she deadpans, staring straight out the front window. She eats the last bit of her sandwich without saying another word, refusing to look at him.

The silence is absolutely deafening but Sam's too tired to argue with her; she's got that stubborn face on that means anything he says won't make a difference.

He sighs heavily and finishes his sandwich. When he's done Andy reaches into the plastic bag that sits at her feet thrusts an individually wrapped cookie and a bag of chips at his chest. "Here you go," she says, her voice completely flat. She's not eating anything else, just sitting with her arms folded and head resting against the door, waiting for him to be done.

Sam can take a hint – "I'm gonna head back in," he tells her, pushing his door open.

"Okay," she mumbles. Before he can step out onto the pavement she asks, "What time are you done?"

"Around seven o'clock," he answers, scrubbing his free hand quickly through his hair.

"Do you need me to pick you up?"

Sam shakes his head; Brennan will be gone by then so really there's no reason for her to be there – "I'll take the bus."

"Fine," she replies sharply. "I'll see you later."

This time, Sam barely gets the door closed before she takes off. He watches her go and the plastic around the cookie makes a crinkling noise as he closes his fist around it.

Work is steady the rest of the afternoon and it's pushing five o'clock when Brennan finally calls Sam up to his office; at that point Sam had almost given up on meeting the guy that day.

"You wanted to see me, boss?" he asks, rapping his knuckles on Brennan's opened office door.

Brennan looks up from a file he's reading and motions Sam in. "JD, come on in," he says, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

They make small talk for a while; Brennan leans way back in his chair and asks him how his first day's been and who he's working with. Between every question he pauses and kind of stares Sam down; this cold, intimidating glare that would have just about anyone squirming in their seats. Sam fidgets a bit and brushes his palms over his jeans, trying to appear nervous. On the outside he's anxious to make a good impression but on the inside… on the inside he's eerily calm. He shouldn't be – thirty seconds with Brennan and he can tell that the man is a professional with eyes that catch everything and a mind that's like a steel trap, working through every minute detail and carefully filing it away.

It hits him at different times though; the thrill of being under – sometimes it's trembling anticipation and other times it's stone cold control. All day long there's been this undercurrent of excitement and adrenaline, a quiet humming throughout his body and a build up for what's to come – he's been able to ignore it mostly, but on the way up to Brennan's office his hands were actually trembling. Now though, they're steady as can be.

"Alright," Brennan says, picking up the file he had been reading and waving it in the air. "Your file says you're new to Toronto?"

"Well, I lived here before, several years ago, but yes, sir," Sam replies, "My wife and I just moved from St. Catherine's."

Brennan nods along. "And why'd you move?"

"Just looking to start somewhere new," Sam tells him as earnestly as possible. "My father-in-law passed away not too long ago so there was nothing keeping us there."

The story rolls off his tongue without any trouble but Brennan eyes him disconcertingly anyway. Sam shifts in his chair and waits for the next question. "And how'd you end up working here?"

"Jason Ward's a friend of a friend," Sam says. "He knew about the opening, got me set up. I… uh," he clears his throat and bobs his head, "I appreciate the job, boss."

Brennan doesn't respond but his eyes narrow and his cheeks pucker in like he's trying to figure something out. "Ward's a good guy," he mutters. "He's been with me for a while." Sam expects him to dig a little deeper and ask how they knew each other; instead, he picks the file up off his desk. "Kingston Pen?"

Sam decides to go the direct, honest route. "Yes, sir. I got out three years ago."

Brennan opens the file up and reads out off the page, "Possession, trafficking…" he flicks his eyes back over to Sam and his gaze hardens. "Not in my warehouse, understand?"

It's not so much a question as it is a warning – a very clear warning with implicit consequences. "Yes sir," Sam says automatically. "No worries though… I'm not in that anymore, I got out a while ago."

A faint smile appears on Brennan's lips and then it's gone in a flash. Had Sam not been watching for his reaction he would have missed it. "Does that have anything to do with…" he scans the paper, presumably looking for the emergency contact information, "Candace?"

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stands on end as soon as Brennan says her name – which he can't say he wasn't expecting – but he forces himself to relax and let out a meek laugh, "She has a lot to do with it."

Brennan nods in what Sam assumes to be understanding and then tosses the file back on the desk. "Alright, get back to work," he says, standing and extending his hand. "Let me know if you have any trouble."

Sam gets up as well and they shake hands. "Thanks, boss," he replies, keeping his grip firm and looking Brennan straight in the eye, "It's good to be here."

* * *

><p>He's half expecting Andy to be there when he gets out of work but when he exits the warehouse the silver car is nowhere in sight. Disappointed but not exactly surprised, he shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets and heads for the bus stop.<p>

The bus is packed and he ends up standing for the entire fifteen-minute trip back to the cover apartment. The jerky starts and stops do absolutely nothing for the already aggravated muscles in his shoulders and the guy that's sandwiched in next to him reeks of sweat and fish – every time they bump into each other Sam regrets pissing Andy off more and more.

When he finally gets to the apartment he's not sure what he's going to be walking into; if Andy's going to have cooled off from the afternoon or if she'll still be upset with him. All he can do is hope it's the former and the she's not mad at him anymore – he has about fifteen things he needs to talk about with her and it would be a lot easier if he didn't have to grovel first.

He'd also like to – well, it's possible he's been wound up since this morning. The way her lips tasted and the feel of her body against his – it's been running through his mind all day and he would very much like to get to try it again. See if it's as good as he remembers.

He climbs the stairway wearily, footsteps heavy and tired, and when he reaches the top he's surprised to find her laid out on the bed, completely passed out. As he walks closer he sees her flat on her belly on top of the covers, hair spread out over her pillow and snoring lightly.

Sam hesitates for a second – tries to decide what the probability of her slapping him would be if she woke up and found him sleeping next to her - but then toes his shoes off, slips his jacket from his shoulders and drops down on the other side of the bed. A deep, relieved groan escapes his lips as he stretches out his tight muscles and sinks into the mattress. He wants to reach out for her, pull her over to his side of the bed and curl around her, but he keeps his distance and throws his arm up behind his head.

He doesn't even realize that he's drifted off until a shrill alarm pierces through the silence. Disoriented, he bolts up and immediately fumbles for the gun he instinctively knows is on the bedside table.

"Holy shit, Sam," he hears a sleep-heavy voice say, "Put that away. It's just the oven timer." Sam turns to find Andy stumbling from the bed into the kitchen, turning off the timer when she reaches it. "I'm making lasagna."

His heart is seriously racing and after he replaces the gun he lets his head fall into his hands and takes a couple of deep breaths to try and get control over it. "You made lasagna?" he asks after a minute, twisting his head to the side to look at her.

"Yeah, well," she grabs a potholder and then pulls the oven door open, waves the little bit of steam away, "Technically Stouffer's did. But, you know," she gets the lasagna out and drops it on the stove, "I heated it up." When she turns around she catches his eye and sighs, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead, "Sorry, I was gonna pick you up. I just…" she trails off, gesturing towards the bed.

"Fell asleep?" Sam finishes for her.

Andy nods. "I didn't mean to."

Sam shakes his head and lies back down, looks at her over his feet. "It's fine. I made a new friend on the bus."

"Oh yeah?" she asks, her lips twitching with a grin. She's wringing the oven mitt in her hands – indecisive, as if she doesn't know if she's ready to let him off the hook or not.

He gives her a half smile and holds her gaze. "He wasn't as pretty as you and he didn't smell quite as nice but, you know…" he shrugs. "I can't afford to be too picky."

She smiles like she's pleased and finally sets the mitt down on the counter before crossing her arms. "Well, that's because you can be a jackass sometimes." She doesn't sound mad though – she actually sounds kind of… amused by it.

"Yeah, I can be," Sam acknowledges. He chews on his lip or a second and then asks, "Forgive me?"

She heaves her shoulders up and lets them drop dramatically. "I guess so," she says, sighing with exasperation. "But only because you're like… the only person I know right now."

"Oh, is that the only reason?" he asks, teasing.

Her cheeks curve in as she fights a grin, but she shakes her head. "It's possible I overreacted."

"I shouldn't have said it," Sam admits, folding his hands behind his head.

"Yeah, but I was like…" she screws up her face and continues, "Tired and cranky. I hate the grocery store."

He grins at her and then tips his head towards the oven. "How long does that lasagna need to sit for?"

Andy picks up a red box and turn it over in her hands, reading off the back, "Five to ten minutes."

When she looks back over at him he waves his hand and then pats the spot next to him on the bed. "Come lie down until it's ready."

She narrows her eyes at him, like she doesn't quite know what he's up to, but crosses the room anyway. "Hey, so, bad news," she says, flopping down onto her stomach. Bad news for Andy could be anything from "_oops, I lost a prisoner_" to "_the vending machine's out of Snickers again_" so Sam waits for her to finish before starting to worry. "Boyd came by this afternoon."

The way she's landed has her sharp knee digging into his leg, but he doesn't mention it. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, seemingly unaware of the fact that she's a whole lot closer to him than she was before she popped up to get the lasagna. Sam turns his head to the side so he can look at her. "The feed was bad last night, they didn't get anything."

Sam blows some air out in a laugh. _Of course _the feed was bad, which means –

"He messed with a couple of wires and told me to leave 'em on again tonight," Andy tells him, scrunching her nose.

She looks so utterly disappointed – she's actually _pouting_ at him, her bottom lip curled out and full – that Sam can't stop himself from having a little fun. "Why's that bad news?" he asks, drawing his brow together and feigning oblivion.

For a second she looks absolutely stricken, this horrified expression like she's wondering if she's misread everything that's transpired in the last twenty four hours, but as soon as she realizes he's messing with her she punches him in the arm. Hard. "Asshole," she mutters.

Sam refrains from rubbing his arm where she hit him (just barely though, it hurts like a mother) and instead grins and waggles his eyebrows. "You want me bad, huh?" he asks – quietly though, so the wire can't pick it up. He can't resist teasing her – the fact that he's even able to say something like that to Andy has his heartbeat picking up a little, regardless of her answer.

"Shut up," she demands – she's laughing though, so he knows she's not really mad. "You're such a jerk, I don't even know why I like…" she cuts herself off immediately, clamping her mouth shut tight like she was about to spill government secrets. Her eyes go comically wide and a blush flares across her cheeks until the very tips of her ears turn red.

Sam wants to give her crap for that; she can admit to all the stuff she admitted to the night before, in the cover of darkness and under the guise of sorting out a cover story - wind him up tighter than a drum and leave him that way - but turn the lights on and all of a sudden she gets shy.

He wants to give her crap for it but he _doesn't_ because instead of finding her hot and cold routine irritating, like he would have before he got tackled by a rookie, all he wants to do is lean down and take her pretty red ear between his teeth and nibble a bit, make his way down to her neck and spend some time there, getting to know the skin he's spent two years trying to ignore –

Her hair's fallen in her front of face, undoubtedly she tipped her head forward so she could hide behind it, so Sam carefully reaches out pushes it behind her ear, letting his fingers trail over her cheeks. When he reaches the lobe of her ear he tugs a bit, making her smile and lean into his hand.

"Did you have a good day?" she murmurs quietly, looking up at him with her wide, brown eyes.

Sam strokes him thumb along her hairline and responds, "It was long."

"What'd you do this afternoon?"

"Worked in the warehouse," he tells her. "Loaded trucks and then unloaded trucks."

"Mmmm, manual labor," she muses. "You sore?"

He _is _sore – all the way through his shoulders and down his back – but it's from the hellish night of sleep he got cramped up on the couch and not from work. Not yet anyway. He can only imagine the old man jokes he'd be in for if he admitted to it, so he just shakes his head and says, "No."

"That's too bad," Andy replies, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she slips her arms up underneath her pillow. "I was gonna rub your back for you."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up. That was pretty much the last thing he was expecting her to say. "Oh, I'm certain I will be later," he offers quickly, smirk sliding into place.

Andy just shrugs. "Offer expired ten seconds ago. Guess you're out of luck." Then, winking at him, she teases, "In more ways than one."

They stare at each other in a quiet acknowledgement of how different things might be if they were anywhere but in the cover apartment. Andy's eyes have darkened and she's biting on her lip – Sam's hand stills in her hair and for a brief moment it seems like they're both considering throwing caution to the wind and just going for it. Sam doesn't realize that he's holding his breath as he waits to see what Andy's going to do.

After a couple of seconds she just licks her lips and then smiles at him and laughs a little before burying her head in her pillow and letting out a frustrated sigh. "We have, like… the worst timing in the world."

Sam hesitates for minute but then – "Screw it," he says, starting to push off the bed.

"Wait," Andy grabs for his arm, keeping him perched awkwardly on the side of the mattress, "Where are you going?"

"To turn the cameras off," he tells her – it is possibly the dumbest idea he's had in a while and he can already imagine the ass-chewing he's going to get from Boyd over this but he really just does not care. Not even a little bit.

Her eyes go wide and she starts shaking her head. "You can't do that," she hisses, tugging him back onto the bed with surprising strength.

"Why not?" he asks. Because really… it was a long night followed by an even longer day and there's really nothing else he'd rather do than get her in bed and get her clothes off and –

"Because," she replies, whispering, "It's like a sign or something… we cannot do this right now."

"A sign?" he repeats, unable to keep the skepticism out of voice.

Andy huffs a breath and then explains quietly, "Look, Boyd already thinks I'm going to screw this thing up for you…"

"You're not going to screw anything up," he says, trying to protest – partly because she's really not going to screw anything up and he's tired of her thinking that and also partly because… well he doesn't want to sound like he's pleading or anything but between the doe eyes and the back rubs and the lip-biting… she's killing him a little bit here.

"Yeah, you're the only one that thinks that," she retorts as she sits up and crosses her legs. "You've proven yourself, alright? Boyd trusts you…"

"He doesn't trust me that much," Sam interjects. Andy fixes him with a look so he holds his hands up, "Sorry, continue."

"I'm expendable, okay? He's pretty much looking for anything he can find to get me out of here," Andy says, keeping her voice soft. "And if he thinks…" she gestures between the two of them and then lowers her voice even more, "I like, _seduced _you or something, I'll probably be gone tomorrow morning."

Sam can't help but laugh at that – a hearty, deep laugh that has her furrowing her brow. If she only knew how very little seducing it would take… Sam guesses she still hasn't quite grasped the fact that he's pretty much head over heels for her. "He's not going to think you seduced me, McNally." He starts to wonder what might actually be involved in that and then stops that line of thought right away.

"Yes, he is," she insists. "You're like, Mr. SuperUndercover and you know, _historically_ I've been…" she trails off, waving her hands in air helplessly. "Your kryptonite or something, I don't know."

Sam raises an eyebrow, dubious. "My kryptonite?"

Andy drops her head into her hands and groans. "I don't know. It was a bad example."

He understands what she's getting at (_eight months of his life_) but – that's funny. "You think if we have sex, I'm going to lose all of my _powers_?" he asks, trying not to laugh.

She groans again, embarrassed. "Oh my God, that's not what I said."

"Andy, come on, look at me," he says gently, pulling her hands down from her face. When she finally meets his gaze her eyes are all watery and that just – well, he absolutely, 100% cannot handle her crying over this, so he decides to stop messing with her. "I understand, okay? You don't want to give Boyd any reason to send you home."

She nods. "Exactly."

"So we should probably play by the rules."

She nods again. "Right."

"And right now the rules are – leave the cameras on."

Another nod. "Yes."

Sam swallows but then tells her, "Okay. I get it."

Her eyes brighten marginally and she manages to look slightly less pitiful. It makes him feel… he doesn't even know. He doesn't like that she seems to think he was going to be mad at her or something. "You do?" she asks hopefully, sniffling.

"Yeah," he says sincerely, "Of course I do. It's fine." Well, it's not fine but – it'll have to do.

He falls back onto the pillow again and pulls her down beside him. She lands on her stomach but keeps herself propped up on her elbows, looking down at him.

"It's not that I don't want to," she tells him, running her hand under her nose. "I do, I really do, I just…"

Sam chuckles – she's trying to reassure him, he knows that, but telling him how much she wants to isn't really helping things. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna go shut 'em off, rules be damned."

Andy smiles. "Okay. I just didn't want you to think…"

He doesn't wait for her to finish. "I don't," he promises, gently tugging on her elbow until she does what he wants and lies all the way down.

There's a quiet moment and Sam supposes they could probably get up and eat dinner – he should fill her in on the meeting with Brennan - but right now he really doesn't want to move. Her head is resting on his arm and her hair is cool on his neck – nothing too obvious but still… it's nice.

"We can still like, make out in the bathroom though," she tells him softly, yawning.

Sam grins up at the ceiling. "Oh yeah?"

Her head gets heavier on his arm as she relaxes into the bed. "Mmmhmm."

He's not sure how long that's gonna last but he's definitely not going to say no. "Good." He pauses for a minute, knuckles running lazily up and down his sternum as he thinks, and then asks, "Hey, so… what kind of superpowers do I have?"

It takes a second but eventually he feels her whole body start to shake with laughter. Sam smiles and tugs her a little closer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **So, I'm a big liar and I apologize for that. Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out - some of you probably know that I moved recently and started a new job this week, so things have been a little crazy over in casa tikvarn. I will do my best to get the next chapter out in a much more timely manner! That said, I hope you enjoy!

Thanks to rookiebluefan89 and margie311, as always.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Rookie Blue.

* * *

><p>The fourth day into the undercover, Andy starts to get a little bored.<p>

That's not entirely true – she was bored after dropping Sam off that second day, but she's hid it well. Or, at least, she's tried to.

Sam's picked up on how restless she is and tries to make it better; every night he gives her a play by play of his day and lets her pick apart every little detail. She knows he doesn't necessarily enjoy it, notices the barely suppressed eye roll when she asks him to talk her through what Brennan said just one more time, but it keeps her from feeling completely useless. He been extra-patient with her lately, which is surprising because Boyd _still_ hasn't let them turn the cameras off. Every time it's a different excuse – cameras not working, lighting is off, can't hear anything – and Andy's starting to get a little… _impatient_ herself.

Okay, more than a little impatient.

When she told Sam he couldn't turn the cameras off she figured it was going to be one, two nights tops but it's getting to the point that she's trying to work up the nerve to suggest they just book a hotel room. Earlier that morning, when he leaned into the shower and got a good look at _everything_ and then grinned at her with that stupid pleased grin of his she _almost _blurted it out but, uh – the way he was looking at her was making it difficult to form words.

It's not like it's a whole new thing – there's always been this… _tension_ between them, no matter how much she tried to deny it. The tingle when he touched her back or the way her cheeks flushed when she caught him looking at her – it's always been there, it just seems to be intensified these days. She's pretty sure that every time he looks at her a little more heat pools in her belly and her knees give out just a little more… if something doesn't happen _soon _she's afraid she might melt right onto the floor.

Andy can't help but feel like they're teetering on the edge of something; they're passed the point they were at a few days ago but they've stalled out – haven't quite tipped over yet. There's still this feeling of unbalance and instability; one false move and things could go either way.

Anyway, ramped up sexual tension aside, Andy's getting bored. So, after chauffeuring Sam to the warehouse, she drives down to a little coffee shop she saw on their route, hoping to find a computer.

There's one tucked away in the back corner, unoccupied, so Andy drops her stuff in the chair and stands in line to get some hot chocolate.

The coffee shop is crowded with students on their laptops, earphones in place and muffled music filtering out, and people in business suits poring over documents with half filled mugs strewn across their tables. Andy quickly studies each face, checking for anyone that might look familiar.

They're out of fifteen's beat, about twenty minutes west of the city, but Andy's senses are heightened anyway – the day she went to the grocery store she stuck her head around every aisle before heading down it, just in case. It's not even necessarily that she's worried about seeing someone she knows, it's just… well, she's not entirely sure she's supposed to be here in the first place. No one laid out guidelines for Internet usage so while she's not directly disobeying orders, she doesn't know if maybe she's indirectly breaking the rules.

And, possibly – a tiny little part of her is hoping she's being followed. It's ridiculous, Brennan barely even knows who she is and if she actually was being followed it would not be a _good_ thing, they're trying for inconspicuous, but this is her first time in deep cover and she just… she thought it would be a little more exciting, that's all. So far the most dangerous thing she's done is merge without using a blinker.

She's so consumed with checking out the place that she doesn't hear when the barista asks what she wants. He clears his throat and tries again, this time with an edge of annoyance that snaps Andy back to reality. Grinning sheepishly, she places her order and, after receiving her drink, she settles back down at the computer.

Boyd provided them with overviews of some of Brennan's old cases and Sam's filled her in on what he remembers about the guy but she still feels like she doesn't really have a grasp on the whole thing. She's gone through the case files a dozen different times, hoping that something new would jump out at her and give her insight but something just doesn't add up – there's such an inconsistency between who he _was_ and who he _is_.

She pulls up the search engine, types in his name and then scans the hits that she gets. Most of them are pages about his trucking company but there are a couple of new reports about the accident his family was in – she clicks on those and reads through them.

That's something else that's been bugging her – that accident report she saw the first night. It was mostly blank and the parts it that were filled out were riddled with mistakes; neither Boyd nor Sam seemed too concerned about it but it's been on her mind ever since.

The news reports say pretty much what she already knew so she pulls out the index card shoved deep in her pocket and starts searching the names of some of Brennan's alleged victims. The cases are old, some happened over ten years ago, back when she was in high school, but she still gets a significant number of results. Grabbing a napkin, she starts jotting down anything that seems important – anything that she hasn't read before.

Before she realizes it three hours have passed, a large stack of napkins has piled up beside her, the hot chocolate has gone ice cold and there's a middle-aged man eyeing her from across the room. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end (it's totally creepy, she just looked up and saw him staring at her) but then he very pointedly cuts his eyes up to a sign on the wall that she hadn't noticed before – one that says there's a one hour time limit for the computer – and looks back at her, obviously irritated.

Oops.

Andy huffs out a relieved breath, glad the man's not a psycho stalker killer, and offers him a shaky smile before quickly clearing the search history and gathering her things. She heads back to the apartment, eager to transfer the notes she'd taken from napkins onto real paper.

"Hey," she says later, sitting in the car with Sam during his break, "Don't you think it's strange that out of all of Brennan's victims, there's only one woman?"

Truth be told, this is the part of her day that feels most _normal_; eating lunch in the car with Sam and talking about whatever job they're on. Aside from the fact that she's the one in the driver's seat and neither of them is in uniforms - it's just like any other day.

Not that it's not alarming how easily they're settling into "married" life – she remembers those first few weeks at Luke's and how awkward and uncomfortable everything was. It's different with Sam; she's not constantly worried about interrupting his routine or messing up his stuff. Maybe it's because they've both been dumped into this new environment and the stuff in the cover apartment doesn't really belong to either one of them but for some reason… she doesn't really think that's it.

She finally got him off the couch the night before, convincing him that it was stupid for him to wake up with a massive crick in his neck every morning when they were both adults and could manage to sleep in the same bed while keeping their hands to themselves. Turns out that wasn't entirely true – just as she was drifting off she felt Sam reach out beneath the covers and lace his fingers between hers.

Sam shrugs and pulls a piece of his sandwich off. "Not really," he replies, lifting the bread to his mouth.

"It's just…" Andy keeps talking even though she's pretty sure he's giving her the brush off, "I mean, all the guys that Brennan killed were _bad guys _– gang members, drug pushers, car thieves… most of them had records longer than his."

"Doesn't make it okay that he tortured 'em," Sam tells her. "Killed 'em for fun."

Well, _obviously_ – that's not what she was getting at. "Yeah, I know," she says, wanting to roll her eyes. Sometimes he treats her like it's her first day all over again. She doesn't think he means to but still – annoying. Setting down her chips, she turns in her seat to face him, leg bent against the console. "I'm just saying…Nora Wilson was a security guard. No record. No ties to criminal activity."

Sam's free hand slips up to her knee, curling around it. That's another thing that's new – how affectionate he is. It's like now that he's got permission to touch her he just does… all the time. Completely casually, too, like he's been doing it his whole life. "And?"

"He shot her in the head," she reminds him, suddenly distracted by the way his thumb brushes the rough denim of her inseam almost absently. "Execution style. No other marks on her body, just a single bullet in the brain."

He tilts his head slowly from side to side, like he's slowly starting to catch on to something. "What're you thinking?"

She hesitates for a second, wondering if maybe she's totally off track, but then poses the question, "Who would you feel more guilty about killing? A scumbag biker or an innocent single mom?"

"The mom," Sam replies easily. "But that's assuming Brennan feels remorseful about what he's done and that's the thing – " he takes a pull for his water bottle and then shakes his head, clearing his throat, "He doesn't."

Andy narrows her eyes skeptically and clasps her hand over his, stopping it's descent down her thigh so she can concentrate. "You don't think that after losing his wife and kid he might feel a little guilty about taking someone's mom from them?" It's not like she's expecting Brennan to cry over the people that he's hurt but surely there's gotta be a little part of him that feels… _something_. Shame, maybe. Regret.

"Maybe," Sam allows. "But Brennan's not like you and me – you can't just assume that because you'd feel bad something, he'd feel bad about the same thing. Guys like him don't work that way."

"I know that. I just think that if there's one person he's going to break on, it'd be the mom." She straightens her spine and announces, "I think she's the one we should try to get him for."

Sam's quiet for a moment and she watches for the ticks that mean he's thinking it over – the twitch of his jaw, the slight purse of his lips.

"Just hear me out, okay?" she says, gesturing with a carrot stick (Sam's only request from the grocery store – baby carrots). "There are so many differences in the cases that it doesn't even look like he was the one that did it… "

"Oh, he did it," Sam interrupts, "There's witness reports from neighbors that saw his car at her house, he was missing from work the exact time she was killed, her ex used to work for him…"

"It wasn't her ex," Andy jumps in. Sam raises and eyebrow and she clarifies, "They weren't divorced. He died of lung cancer a couple of months before she was killed."

The creases around his eyes deepen and he looks at her, confused. "How'd you know that?"

Damn it. Andy definitely wasn't intending on letting her coffeehouse sleuthing slip just yet. "It's in the report," she lies, knowing that the chances of him actually going back to check are slim to none. "It doesn't matter though," she says, waving her hand, "I know he probably did do it, I'm just saying that there was something different about this one, it didn't follow his usual pattern at all."

"Go on."

"Okay," she takes a deep breath and then continues, "Aside from the obvious – her being a woman and all, all of the other guys went missing for weeks or even months before being found in an abandoned building or at the bottom of the lake or out in the middle of a field somewhere; she was late for work one day and they found her in her _bedroom_."

Sam nods, "Okay…"

"And he took his time with the other ones, you know, like he _enjoyed_ it or something." A shudder runs through her body just thinking about it, but it's true. "The coroners' reports said he kept some of them alive for days before finally killing them. Hers was a single, quick bullet. No mess, no fuss. Done and done."

"So… what?" he asks. "You think she knew something?"

"She knew something, maybe her husband knew something, who knows?" Andy replies. "I just think there's something there." It's something she's been thinking about all along; how different the cases are and how it _had _to mean something. It started with the way she was killed and then, after reading news articles about her family, just went from there. "And I think that if we can get him talking about _anyone, _it'll be her."

The probability of Brennan actually confessing to killing someone is absurdly low, it's more likely that they'll have to build their case from people who know him, but still… they've got to exploit every weakness they can.

Sam's quiet again, tapping his finger against her knee as he sorts it out in his head. "You're probably right," he eventually says.

"I am?" She doesn't mean to sound as surprised as she does but… well, she's surprised. As right as she thinks she is, she expected to have to sell her case a little more.

"Yeah. Guys like Brennan – they follow a pattern. If something deviates from that there's gotta be a reason."

She can't help but smile, feeling proud. Like she's actually contributed something to this little operation.

Sam smirks back at her but not in an unfriendly way – more like he's amused. That look he gets when she's not quite the hair-brained rookie he expects her to be. "Proud of yourself?"

Andy's shoulders bounce up and down. "Maybe," she replies impishly, still grinning.

Sam laughs and leans across the console – the hand that was on her knee works it's way up into her hair, tugging gently and murmuring as he gets closer, "You're quite the undercover detective."

"Hey," she says, dodging his lips. He's flirting, she knows he is, but there's teasing and then there's insulting and he's bumping right up against the latter. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not," he responds immediately, tipping his head back. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes darken, like he's truly upset she'd think that. "I promise, I'm not. It's good work."

Andy eyes him for a second, hesitant, but then cautiously raises her hand to his face and swipes her thumb over his bottom lip a couple of times, watching him watch her.

It's possible she's being a little sensitive – there are reasons that training officers and rookies aren't supposed to be together, not the least of which is this insane, ingrained desire to please. Even though they've somewhat gotten passed that when they're in uniform… this is entirely different. The power dynamic has shifted again.

But – with the way Sam's looking at her – it's possible he's not on top.

She's strangely comforted by the thought… the idea that neither of them is on totally solid footing here.

Finally she leans in, presses her lips to his. Sam is slow to respond, mouth moving like molasses and drawing it out a little. She's still caught off guard by how intense this always is, even these chaste kisses in the car that always leave her wanting more. With Luke they'd gotten to the point of familiarity where things were just done out of habit; the _spark_ had been replaced with comfort and routine. It wasn't a _bad _thing, necessarily…

Or maybe it was, considering how things turned out.

Andy quickly pushes _that_ unpleasant thought out of her mind, goes back to thinking about Sam.

That _spark _is, uh… definitely still there.

After a minute his hand threads deeper into her hair and his thumb rubs at her ear, hitting a ticklish spot, making her laugh right against him.

The tension is broken and she can feel Sam's lips curl into a smile. He rubs the same spot again and when she tries to duck away he holds her still, kissing her once more before pulling back. "You talked to Boyd yet?" he asks, trying for nonchalance.

Andy knows exactly what he's getting at though. "You mean has he said we can turn the cameras off?" Sam just raises his eyebrow, answering her without having to say anything. She grins and shakes her head, "No, not yet."

He lets outs out a frustrated groan and drops his head back against the headrest. "I swear he's doing it on purpose," he says, scrubbing his hand through his hair so it stands up in all different directions. Thankfully he left the gel at home this time.

She snorts out a laugh – "Oh yeah?" she asks, righting herself in her seat. "You think he's cock-blocking you or something?"

"I think that's exactly what he's doing," Sam responds, brow arched and daring her to argue with him. "Son of a bitch is probably laughing about it right now."

Andy rolls her eyes at that but… a little part of her kind of thinks he might be right. "Break almost over?"

Sam flicks his wrist to check his watch and heaves a sigh. "Yeah, I gotta go," he tells her, reaching for an unopened bag of chips to save for later. "I don't know what time I'll be done here so I'll just take the bus."

"'Kay," Andy replies, instinctively leaning in when he goes for a kiss. It's a JD and Candace thing, the goodbye kiss. "See you later. Be careful."

_Be careful? _It keeps slipping out without her really thinking about it. He made fun of her the first time she said it but whatever – she's pretty sure he likes hearing it, can see he grin he tries to hide.

Plus… well, she really does want him to be careful. She's imagined a couple of "what if" scenarios and then had to purposefully stop her mind from going there because she was giving herself nightmares.

Sam winks at her as he pushes himself out of the car. "You, too. See ya."

* * *

><p>When there's a knock at the door later that afternoon Andy reluctantly drags herself down the stairs, assuming it's going to be Boyd.<p>

It's not Boyd – when she throws the door open and sees Jamie Brennan standing there she freezes for a second, completely caught off guard and seized with panic.

She's seen him walking across the parking lot a couple of times now, has even gotten a wave from him before, but seeing him standing there in the flesh – silver blonde hair catching the sun and blue eyes that are striking close up – well, apparently it makes her lose the power of speech. Her blood has gone ice cold in her veins and her mouth is bone dry but somehow she manages to choke out, "Hi… uh, hello." _Perfect. _

Brennan smiles brightly and extends his hand. "Candace, right? I'm Jamie Brennan."

"Right, JD's boss," she says, shaking his hand and trying not to appear flustered. When she gets her hand back she pushes her bangs out of her face, giving herself a little pep talk. _You can do this. _"It's nice to meet you."

"You, too," he replies, completely smooth and charming, white teeth glistening. For half a second she thinks that he's handsome – then she remembers what he's done. "I was just dropping by to check the address JD gave."

"A boss that makes house calls?" Andy half asks, tilting her head to the side and grinning like she's confused. "That's unusual."

"I just like to know who's working for me," he says, leaning in a bit as if he's telling her a secret. "Can never be to sure these days."

The irony of that statement hits her hard and she has to force a laugh, keeping her grin in place. "Right, yeah, of course," she replies, running a shaky hand through her hair. "Do you, um… do you want to come up? I can put some coffee on," she tells him. "Answer any questions you might have."

Here's what she remembers as soon as the offer comes out of her mouth: there are files upstairs. Opened files, scattered all over the dining room table. _Files about him._

Blood pounds in her ears as she mentally crosses her fingers, hoping that he'll decline and tell her it's fine and that he should be going. He doesn't do that. "That'd be great," he says, taking a step forward.

So, that's how she and Brennan end up upstairs in JD and Candace's apartment, alone and with documents that could blow the entire operation, not to mention endanger her life, spread out fifteen feet away from them.

Her heart beats rapidly in her chest, this _thump thump thump _that's so loud she's sure he can hear it, and as she watches him slide his coat off she tries to keep her eyes from bouncing over to the table, wondering how she's going to get to them before Brennan sees.

"Can I take that for you?" she asks, reaching for his coat. Her voice, given the circumstances, is remarkably steady. The opened manila folders are like a fire burning in her peripheral vision.

Brennan hands it over with a polite, "Thank you." He doesn't seem to notice the mess of papers on the table – he's more distracted by glancing around at the apartment, taking everything in with his sharp, perceptive eyes.

Andy finds herself wishing that Sam was there; he would know what to do and what to say and it would be so much easier just to be able to follow his lead. As it is she's got to make do. Trust her training. Trust herself.

She hopes to God that the cameras are actually working and that Boyd, who should be watching the feed, really has been screwing with them the whole time.

To Brennan, she just smiles and then walks to the table, folding his coat over one of the chairs. He's over in the living room and not paying any attention to what she's doing so, as discretely as possible, she begins gathering the files. "Sorry about the mess," she says, straightening everything into a neat a little stack and then picking it up, hugging it tightly to her chest. "My dad passed away a couple of months ago and I'm _still _trying to get everything organized."

Sam's filled her in on his initial conversation with Brennan and the reason he gave for them moving from St. Catherine's; they've gone over it a dozen different times but she's still worried she's gonna get a little detail wrong and tip Brennan off.

Brennan stops his not so subtle snooping to turn and face her. His forehead wrinkles as he watches her deposit the files into a plastic storage container beside the bed. "JD told me about your father," he replies, wringing his hat in his hands. "I'm sorry to hear about that."

Andy shrugs and stands back up to her full height. "Thanks," she says, kicking the container under the bed so that it, and all of its contents, are safely tucked away. "I miss him, of course, but it was a long time coming and he was really sick so…" she smiles sadly, trying not to think of what it would actually be like if her father… "At least he's not in pain anymore."

Brennan nods and his expression is completely blank; gone is the charm she saw out on the sidewalk. "At least there's that."

She wants to get him talking about the accident – the whole point in bringing up Candace's dad was to try and make that connection with him. "Um… I hope you don't mind me saying this but, uh, " she pulls on her most sincere expression (its not hard to fake – she actually does feel bad for the man, as idiotic as Sam thinks that is) and continues cautiously, "JD mentioned that you lost your wife recently. I'm sorry."

He blinks and stares at her, mouth gaped like he's at a loss for words. "Car accident," he finally says, blue eyes going dark and stormy. "My little girl, too."

It's definitely not difficult to fake sympathy for that. "I'm so sorry," she repeats quietly, shaking her head. "I can't even… I can't even imagine." She _can_ imagine, actually – she remembers how scared she was when Luke was shot, how for one terrifying minute she thought he was gone. It's not exactly the same but… she can imagine.

Now, if it'd been Sam that had been shot… Andy swallows hard and stops herself from going there. And really, it's way too early for the hot lump that rose in her throat just thinking about it.

A dark look flickers across Brennan's features – this raw, honest peek into his pain and for a moment Andy genuinely feels sorry for him. She tries to remember everything she's read about him and everything Sam's told her. Reminds herself that _he's a bad guy. _She can't think of him as a widower and as a father who lost his child – she _has _to keep herself detached, as difficult as it may be.

He wipes his hand over his face and the look is gone, replaced by that blank expression from earlier. "How's that coffee coming along?" he asks, nodding over to the kitchen. His voice sounds rough but he laughs a little at the end, lightening things up.

Andy smiles and heads over to the little kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable," she says, waving towards the sofa. "It'll be just a minute."

She gets the coffee ready and when she stirs in the cream she realizes her hands are no longer shaking. Plastering on her best hostess smile, she takes a mug in both hands and walks over to join him.

* * *

><p>Andy's waiting for him when he gets home, has been anxiously pacing the hardwood floor since the clock switched over to seven o'clock. Even before that she was restless; scrubbing non-existent spots off the kitchen counter and sweeping imaginary dust from the floor. Every once and a while she peeks down the stairs, like maybe he'll just appear out of thin air. When the door finally does creak open, she rushes over and then practically flies down the steps, jumping him before he's even had the chance to turn all the way around.<p>

Sam catches her anyway, letting out an exaggerated "hmmph" at the sudden weight and chuckling as he takes a step back to steady them. His hands immediately curl up under her thighs, helping her get her legs around his waist, and she circles her arms behind his neck, bringing them close enough to bump noses.

It's only after she does it that she realizes there wasn't even a moment of hesitation on her part; she just kind of launched herself at him, expecting him to be there, sure and sturdy like he always was.

"Hi," she says, right before she dips her head and leans in to kiss him. Sam's response gets lost between them, but she can feel his grin against her, this feather-light touch of lips before he gets more serious, nipping at her bottom lip until she opens up. They kiss like that for a few minutes, right on the tiny landing just inside the apartment where there aren't any cameras, her wrapped tight around him.

Eventually Sam spins and walks her backwards, hand cupping her head so it doesn't crack against the wall when he pushes her back. Balanced between the firm wall behind her and Sam's solid body in front of her, Andy loosens her arms and lets her hands fall down his chest, pulling the zipper of his jacket down with her. When they break apart, Andy blinks a couple of times and then looks up at him from under her eyelashes. "How was your day?"

He's got this uneasy grin on his face, like he has no idea what in the hell is going on. "It was fine," he says slowly, palm smoothing over the back pocket of her jeans. She pushes her hips forward so he can slip his hand inside, tipping her chin up for another kiss. He complies, kissing her quickly, and then, sounding like he can't wait any longer but still a little afraid of what her answer might be, he asks, "How was yours?"

Andy really doesn't even know how to answer that; she's on a high not quite like anything she's ever felt before. "It was…" she pauses, deliberating, but then settles on, "Eventful. I'll tell you all about it later but first – " he still hasn't set her down and her hips are open right up against him; experimentally, she rolls them up and when his breath hitches she offers a wicked grin, "Good news."

"What's that?" Sam asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I talked to Boyd today," she tells him – and then she stops because really… how is she supposed to finish that sentence? _Guess what? We can have sex now, Our handler gave us permission. _

Sam's face brightens though, so she thinks she probably won't have to explain anything further. "Yeah?" he says, voice loaded with suggestion and strong fingers gripping her thigh. The corner of his mouth twitches up when he asks, "What'd he say?"

Andy just smiles and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, threading the soft strands between her fingers. She nods almost imperceptibly and they stare at each other for a beat, like they're making sure they both know what's going in. Sam huffs out a quiet laugh and then she feels his whole body just sort of… melt into hers, warm heat between her legs and chest flush against hers. He goes to kiss her again; careful at first but then longer and slower, drawing it out like he wants to take his time.

And that's… nice, it is. It's more than nice, actually, the way his lips move against hers and the prick of his stubble against of her hand but –

She's been waiting for him to get home for_ a while, _is the thing_. _"Sam – " he chooses that exact moment to start paying attention to her neck so it comes out in a whimper that gets muffled by his thick hair.

He hears her though, murmurs back, "Mmmhmm?"

The sound vibrates through her body and Andy lets her head drop back against the wall with a thud, squeezes her eyes shut and her legs tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer – in response, he pants against her skin.

He doesn't seem to be understanding what she's getting at which is… odd. Normally he's so in tuned with her that it's a little scary – knows exactly what she's thinking and what she's about to do – but right now, when she really needs him to get it he just… keeps going, keeps her pinned against the wall and keeps planting these hot, wet kisses along her collarbone.

"Sam… " she tries again, all breathy and embarrassing, and she swears she can feel him smile as his finger hooks into the neckline of her t-shirt and pulls it to the side, latches his lips onto the skin he revealed.

"Yes?" he voice is light and teasing – this tone like he can't wait to hear what she's going say.

So. It's possible he _does _understand what she's getting at and is just ignoring it in favor of – she doesn't even know. Driving her crazy, possibly. Her hips are starting to move on their own accord, clenching and jerking forward every time he presses into her. Sam hums, pleased.

Andy laughs sort of helplessly as he moves back up to her face, peppering her cheeks with kisses before returning to her lips. "Come on," she says, hands on his broad shoulders and nudging him backwards. He's like a brick wall though, going nowhere fast.

"You want to move this somewhere else, McNally?" He's looking right at her now, eyes dancing with amusement. "Just say the word."

Just… _God. _The man is infuriating sometimes – they had a _moment _back there, okay? She's pretty sure he knows exactly what she wants but he's just… stubborn, he's stubborn. Smug and stubborn.

Well, two can play that game.

Andy narrows her eyes and then watches him as her hand trails all the way down the front of him and wedges between them, palming him through his jeans. His whole body jumps when she touches him but he keeps his eyes trained on hers, biting his cheeks against a grin. Andy tightens her grip, just barely, and he sucks in a breath. "Okay, okay…" he tells her, grinning fully as he pulls her hand up and away, wrapping it back around his neck. He nods towards the door. "Are they off yet?"

"Not yet." She shakes her head and then grins, "I didn't want to be like... super presumptuous or anything."

"Presumptuous?"

"Well you know, you could be too tired or something," she tells him, patting his shoulder with faux-sympathy. "You have had a long day at work."

"I think I can summon the energy," he assures her, mimicking her tone of mock sincerity. His brown eyes darken though, giving his words an edge. "What do you think?"

Andy pulls her lip between her teeth, like she's having to really give it some thought, but then she wiggles her hips and winks at him. "Yeah, I think you're uh… _up_ for it."

Sam laughs, deep and hearty, and a second later his hands are up under her thighs again, holding her against him as he spins them around and deposits her on the bottom step. "Wait here," he demands, ducking outside to where the control box is.

When he opens the door a freezing blast of air hits her, making her shiver. She runs her hands up and down her bare arms and in that moment a bout of nerves hits her, the realization of what's about to happen.

Sam's back in less than ten seconds though, before she can think too much about it, warm body plastered against hers, warding off the chill. She laughs as he lifts her in a big bear hug and half carries her up to the loft - her feet hit each one of the steps but she's moving in a blur without any effort at all. She'd tease him about it, make some crack about being eager about something, but her mouth is, um… otherwise occupied.

When they hit the top of the staircase he bends down and picks her up properly, lips never leaving hers. Andy locks her ankles behind his back and giggles all the way over to the bed; this stupid, nervous laugh that she can't seem to stop. Somehow she gets his jacket off, letting it drop to the ground somewhere near the table.

"You were right, you know," she blurts out, just as he's lowering her down onto the bed. Her back hits the mattress and she pulls him down with her, widening her legs to make room as he crawls up between them. She remembers this from the blackout – how well they fit together.

"'Bout what?" he asks distractedly, up on his knees and raising his arms so she can slide his shirt off of him.

She flings the thermal to the side and takes a second to let her hands wander up the muscles of his chest and through the sprinkle of hair that covers it – suddenly she regrets even bringing it up. Another nervous habit – rambling at the most inappropriate times. "'Bout Boyd," she finally answers, tugging him back down in top of her. "I think he was doing it on purpose."

He shifts his weight onto one elbow and starts to push her shirt up. "Why's that?" He's still not paying total attention to her – well, heis paying attention to _her, _just not what she's saying. His head's between her breasts and she can feel his lips and teeth against her skin, kissing and nibbling a line down her body. He brushes over the cup of her bra and she can't see him, her shirt's bunched up and blocking her view, but she feels him push the material down start to circle his thumb around –

Her words come out in a breathless rush, hoping she can just get it out there and they can move on. "Well, Brennan dropped by today and he called like, five seconds after he left. How else would he have known if he hadn't been watching?"

Sam whole body stills; hips, fingers, mouth…everything just stops for a long beat. "Brennan was _here_?" he finally asks, as if she might as well have said he was on the moon.

Andy nods. "Yeah."

"Up here, in the apartment?" He waves his hand around just in case she's not sure what apartment he's talking about.

She nods again, trying not to get annoyed. "Yes. This apartment."

When he brings his hand back down he shoves himself up into a pushup position above her, hovering but not touching. Andy whimpers a little pathetically at the loss of contact but he doesn't seem to notice. "Alone, with you?" he clarifies once again.

"Yes, Sam," she says, arching up against him. "Come on, we can talk about it later."

He doesn't take the bait though - grabs her wrist when she reaches down to work the buttons on his jeans and pins it up by her head. Andy lets out and annoyed sigh. "McNally," he says, without an ounce of amusement, "When were you planning to tell me about it?"

She huffs a breath out of her nose. "I don't know, _later_. Kinda had other things on my mind," she tells him, rocking her hips up to make her point.

Sam's chest expands with a sharp inhale and he closes his eyes for a moment, like he's fighting to keep it together. When he opens them a minute later they're still dark and intense like they were earlier but there's something else, something that wasn't there before.

"Are you…" she holds his gaze, eyes narrowing quizzically as she tries to read his expression. "Are you _mad _at me?"

Sam doesn't answer her. "Just – tell me what happened."

At this point she can't be sure if he's mad _at _her or if he's just upset she didn't tell what happened as soon as he got home. Thinking that there's still a slim (very slim) chance to put this behind them, she takes a deep breath and tries to explain as calmly as possible – "He came by around three and said he was just checking up on the address you gave him. I made some coffee, we sat and talked for about ten minutes and then he left. It was totally fine and obviously," she gestures between then, "We're both still alive, so I don't really understand what the issue is here."

He doesn't seem too interested in letting it go though. "What'd you talk about?"

Since he's still hovering right above her and because she's feeling fidgety and really needs to do something with her hands, she reaches up and threads her fingers through his hair, scratching her nails against his scalp. He doesn't make her stop so – that's progress. "We talked a little bit about Candace's dad and then a little about his family…"

"What about his family?

"Just that they died in a car accident and then we moved on. He asked how we were liking Toronto and how the job was going for you and that was it. We finished our coffee and then he left. I swear, aside from like… finally meeting him, it was drama free." Well, except for the part when she had the whole case spread out all over the table, but he didn't need to know about that.

He chews on his lip and his brow furrows slightly, like he's still putting all the pieces together. "Did he invite himself up or did you invite him up?"

"Well… I mean, I guess I was the one that invited him up…" Sam snorts and starts pushing himself up and off the bed, shaking his head. And that just… well, that pisses her off. Mood officially ruined, she yanks her shirt back down and sits up. "_What_ is your problem?"

"My _problem _is that you still don't think sometimes, McNally," he tells her, first gesturing to himself and then throwing his arms out dramatically.

Andy gets to her feet because there's no way she's going to sit there and let him yell at her. "_Excuse me_?"

"Two years on the job and you're inviting _murderers _up for coffee." He spits it out like it's just truly the stupidest thing she's ever done.

"I was doing _my_ _job_, Sam," she claims, on the defensive. They're in a faceoff now, sort of circling each other. "And it's not like I was alone with him without any back up; the cameras were on, not to mention the gun…."

"For all you knew the cameras weren't working," Sam points out. "That's what we've been told this whole week."

What? _He _was the one grumbling the whole time about how he thought Boyd was just messing with them. "Well, that's really convenient for you to say now…"

"And even if they were working, Boyd's probably got some rookie who drew the short straw watching the feed. You're lucky the kid wasn't on a bathroom break?"

"Lucky?" she repeats, honestly bewildered. Not only is the suggestion ridiculous, it's insulting. "Somehow the fact that I stayed in character, established a connection with Brennan, got him talking and managed to not get myself killed in the process is all a matter of _luck_?"

She may as well be talking to a wall because Sam doesn't seem to be processing a single thing she's trying to get through to him. "What if something had happened and no one noticed?" he says. "What if he'd taken you or…"

Andy cuts him off, "_Nothing_ happened and at some point Boyd _was _watching the feed because he called me as soon as Brennan left and, you know what? _He_ told me I did a good job, so…"

"_Of course_ he told you that you did a good job," he all but yells, his whole body lurching forward, "All he cares about is getting Brennan in prison."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm trying to do here…"

"No, you don't get it… if Boyd could get Brennan for killing you, he'd be just as happy as he would be for getting him on any of the other ones. Happier, even, since you're a cop."

As much as Andy hates Boyd, she thinks Sam is definitely reaching with that one. "Okay," she says, holding her hands up, "I think that's a little much."

He ignores her protests, preferring instead to continue his ranting. "You run head first into these dangerous situations – "

Andy scoffs. "I'm a _cop_, Sam," she tells him, hand in the center of her chest and leaning towards him. "And guess what? It's _dangerous_. It's dangerous for you, it's dangerous for me, it's dangerous for every single…"

Sam steps right into her personal space, close enough that his folded arms bump into hers. "Yeah, it's dangerous enough without you taking unnecessary risks."

"Explain to me how it was an unnecessary risk?" she asks, holding her ground. The couple of inches he has on her plus how close he's standing makes it so that she has to look up to keep eye contact. "We're supposed to be getting to know him, right? Getting him to like us?" She sweeps her hands out when she asks – "How was that supposed to happen if I just left him standing out in the cold?"

"You can be polite and _not invite him up here with you_," Sam tells her slowly, like he's having to explain to a five year old that the stove is hot. "I swear to god, Andy, sometimes it's like you want to get yourself killed."

Andy rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. "You're being totally irrational about this."

"Somehow I'm not surprised you think that."

"Why's that?" she snaps.

"Well rational thinking obviously isn't your forte, McNally," he tells her. "At least when it comes to things like, I don't know… _staying alive_."

Oh, for Christ's sake, the man can be so overly dramatic he should win an award. "So you're saying that if you were here, you wouldn't have done the exact same thing? If I hadn't come with you, you'd never be alone with the guy?"

"That's different," he claims.

It's exactly the answer she was expecting, but she snorts anyway, incredulous. "How the hell is that any different?"

"Well, I've been doing this a _little_ longer than you have, sweetheart." The way he says it – it's not an endearment. It's like the first time they worked together, _Sweetheart, you're not my type, _except more of a mean sneer.

Andy sneers right back at him. "First of all, _jackass_," Probably it's not the best time for name calling, but she can't help it – he's being one and it just slipped right out of her mouth, "Don't call me that and second – what happened to trusting me? Trusting my instincts? Or is that only true if you're around to look after me?"

"Yeah, it is," he says, hands going to his hips and chest puffing out. "And you know what? If you didn't get into some pretty stupid shit when I'm not around then maybe that wouldn't be the case."

"Give me one example…" she doesn't even finish her sentence before he starts ticking 'em off on his fingers.

"You want to start at the beginning? Coming to Anton Hill's restaurant when I specifically told you to stay at the barn."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry I saved your life…" she throws back, sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

Sam continues, two fingers down, "Risking a civilian's life because you screwed up a john sweep."

"Okay, that's not exactly what hap…"

He's on a roll though, doesn't even seem to hear her. "_Ray Donald Swann_."

He is absolutely _livid _now, like he's remembering how it all went down and yeah, that one was a huge screw up. But still – "Seriously? I was a _rookie _Sam, remember that? You were still _training _me!"

"I've got news for you McNally, you're still a rookie," he says, pointing at her. His finger taps against her breastbone, the same spot that five minutes earlier he sucked a nice little mark on. "And the way you let Swann play you? How he got you to feel sorry for him and then took advantage of that? Brennan's gonna do the same damn thing and you're just gonna let him."

"_No, _I'm not," Andy insists, slapping his hand away. "I know I've screwed up in the past, okay? I know that. But it's not like that anymore…"

He butts in. "Oh, so… you want some recent examples? Is that it? Okay… running into a burning building, uh, uh…" he stutters around, like he's so furious with her he can't even think straight, "The storage locker…"

"You wanna talk about the storage locker?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "Fine, let's talk about how you stormed off and _left me alone." _Sam visibly recoils at but instead of stopping her, it only adds fuel to the fire, "Yeah, let's talk about that. You've given a pretty thorough run down of all my mistakes so let's talk about the fact that you spout off all this _back your partner up _crap but when I actually needed you to do that for me, you walked away."

"Well, I was a little pissed off, Andy – "

Anger is seriously like… _radiating _off of him, the vein in his neck is pulsing and all of his muscles are tight. Shee's only seen him like this a few times (all of which, incidentally, coincided with some of the events he just rattled off) but as angry as he is, she's right there with him – face flushed and heart pounding.

"What right did you have to be pissed off?" she asks, pushing against his shoulders so he'll get out of her space. "_I _was the one that got cheated on, _I _was the one whose fiancé slept with someone else…_ I _was the one that was trying be professional and trying to maintain just a shred of self-respect and you were the one that couldn't handle it."

Sam's jaw tightens and she can tell he's biting the inside of his cheek, like maybe he's trying to keep himself from saying something he'll regret. And maybe it was a cheap shot. She knows, okay? She knows he feels guilty about it and knows he blames himself, but at that moment? She doesn't really care.

All of a sudden it's too much for her. Maybe it's the reminder of Luke and that whole crappy situation or maybe it's just how incredibly _hurt _she is by Sam's obvious distrust, but her chest tightens and her eyes are burning and she just really, really needs to get out of there.

"Maybe… " she starts walking over stairs, shaking her head. "Maybe I just shouldn't have come with you. Maybe this," she waves her hand between them and then shrugs, all the fight gone out of her, "Was a bad idea."

Sam's following with her his eyes, watching closely. "Andy," he starts, shoulders slumped and looking totally defeated, "That's not…"

"No, it's okay," she says quickly, pulling on her boots. She's really trying hard not to lose it here, and already her vision's getting a little blurry and her voice is starting to shake. Breaking down in front of him is pretty much the last thing she wants to do. "I'm just… I'm gonna go. I'll be back."

Sam looks like he wants to argue with her but to his credit – he doesn't. "Where are you going?" he demands quietly.

"Taking a page out of your book," she shoots back, fixing him with a glare as she shrugs her coat on. "I'm going for a walk."

He eyes her carefully as she wraps a scarf around her neck and pulls on her mittens, looking like he's debating with himself about something. In the end he doesn't try to stop her, watching silently from the top of the staircase as she pushes the door open and steps out into the cold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for the comments and reviews on the last chapter! I'm sorry that I've been so slack about responding to reviews - I promise that I'm trying to be better. That said - I am so grateful for the feedback this story's been getting and I really enjoy reading all of your responses. Thank you, again!

Rookiebluefan89 and margie311 have, as always, been a huge help!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Rookie Blue.

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><p>Here's the thing - the moment Sam realized Andy was telling him that she'd been alone with Brennan, a lump of bile rose so violently in his throat that he had to take a second and consciously tamp it back down in order not to get sick right then and there.<p>

When he was able speak again without worrying about throwing up, sheer terror took the form of anger – rational or not, he was _pissed_. In turn, Andy got pissed.

It just went downhill from there.

The storage locker was the turning point, the moment the upper hand shifted. The moment when his throat locked up and he physically couldn't say another word.

He just… it's too raw, that overwhelming guilt he felt when he heard Callaghan over the radio and then later when he saw the red marks around her mouth from where the tape had been and the handprint bruises around her neck. There's still an ache in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about it, this gnawing sensation that dredges up old childhood feelings and memories he's tried for decades to suppress.

He deserved to have it thrown in his face, somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he did, but, just. God. It _sucked_. Hearing all those things he'd secretly been afraid she thought, that she needed him, that he abandoned her, was like getting punched in the stomach.

And _then _she had to go and say that maybe it was all a mistake, leaving him to wonder what the hell was going on because as mad as he was – he doesn't want it to be over. God, does he not want it to be over. They've barely even gotten _started_.

When Andy gets back, Sam's on the couch – it's just as uncomfortable as he remembers it being, cramped in the tiny little space, not even enough room to stretch his legs out. After pacing around for over an hour he finally gave up and took a shower, hoping she'd be home by the time he got out, sitting on the sofa and maybe even ready to make up. When she wasn't there he snatched his pillow from the bed and threw a thin sheet over the fake leather, telling himself that he didn't care and that he was just going to go to sleep.

Obviously that's a lie; he _does _care and there's no way he's getting any sleep until she gets home so mostly he's just been sitting there, trying not to imagine all the possible reasons why it could be taking her so long. When he hears the door opened he feels a surge of relief wash through his body, from the top of his head all the way though the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, glad that she's home and that she's okay. That relief, however, is quickly replaced by anger. Anger and a swirl of other emotions that he _knows _he's not in the right place to process; emotions like uncertainty, disappointment, guilt, fear, regret…

He cannot dealwith all that, not right now, so it's easier to let the anger take over. It's not even anger from their earlier fight, even though that's still simmering somewhere; it's a fresh surge in his chest of irritation and disbelief that she would be so thoughtless. She was gone for _two hours. _Two hours in an area she doesn't know, late at night, after they'd just had an argument about her putting herself in dangerous situations.

He thinks she stayed out so long just to mess with his head, to drive home the fact that he can't tell her what to do or what not to do. For instance: even though it seems like common sense, he can't tell her NOT to go out alone, in the dark, in a bad part of town. He can't tell her not to do that because instead of her realizing that the idea of something happening to her makes him almost lose his mind, she chalks it up to him being an overprotective ass.

When Andy reaches the top of the steps she turns cautiously and faces him, wearing an absolutely inscrutable expression. She just stares for a long minute, not saying a word. Her cheeks are red and wind burned and the hair that's peeking out from under her beanie is damp with melted snow. For the first time in a long time, Sam doesn't feel the urge to try and warm her up.

Okay, he does, of course – he's been mad at her half the time he's known her, it's not like it ever stopped him from wanting to take care of her before – but he stays put and doesn't _act_ on it.

He holds her gaze and sets his jaw, waiting for her to be the first one to speak.

They're in this sort of stand off, glaring at each other; both silent and wanting the other to break first. Sam's not gonna be the one to do it though. He knows Andy can't possibly stay quiet for very long. It's like a physical incapability for her; she'd just as easily stop breathing.

Finally she talks. "I am a _good_ cop," she states slowly and deliberately, leaving no room for argument. All the heat that ignited her words earlier has fizzled out, leaving only hollow resignation in its place.

Instinctively, he nods a little. "I know," he replies, because she is.

It's basically the smallest peace offering ever extended but she nods sharply and responds like they've reached an agreement, "Okay." Still staring, as if she's trying to figure something out, she starts pulling at her scarf and coat. "Don't be stupid," she tells him, finally breaking eye contact as she looks down and tugs off her mittens. He has no idea what she's referring to, at this point it could be a whole myriad of things, but then she continues, "You don't have to sleep on the couch."

She disappears into the bathroom after that, leaving Sam alone once again. He's frozen where he is and doesn't make any attempt to get up from the couch, at least not yet.

When the shower turns on he breathes out a sigh and brings his hands up to rub at his temples, letting his face fall forward. The pent up anger has dissipated a bit since the confrontation he expected to occur didn't – he still feels worked up though, over _what, _exactly, he's not sure. In less than three hours they've gone from Andy literally jumping him when he got home (which – that's something he wouldn't mind coming home to _everyday_, he can admit to that even in the state they're in) to barely speaking and he just… he doesn't even know.

He's giving himself a headache trying to figure it all out.

What he does know is that he's exhausted and that he really does NOT want to sleep on the couch. She told him he didn't have to, so he pushes himself up, grabs his pillow and heads for the bed.

When Andy crawls under the covers a little while later she smells like soap and her body is warm from the shower – he can feel the heat bleeding across the space between them and he wants to reach out for her, tug her closer and curl around her, but he doesn't.

It's the uncertainty that's paralyzing. If he thought she was just mad at him it would be different, but he honestly has no idea where they stand right now – whether she meant it when she said that maybe they were a mistake or if she was just spouting off in the heat of the moment. Until she tells him differently he's going to assume (_hope_) it's the latter – he doesn't think he can deal with it if it's not.

His side of the bed is freezing without her; the sheets are chilly and the back of his neck is cold. The night before they slept right up against each other, not cuddling exactly, but just sort of touching. It was nice.

And _warm_.

Andy refuses to even acknowledge his presence though, so he's fairly certain there will be no touching tonight. She rolled onto her side as soon as she got into bed, facing away from him, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Sam stares at the curve of her body for a minute, the dip of her waist and the roundness of her hip, and just when he's about to give in and reach out for her, he stops himself and flips onto to his back, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh. Even with how tired he is, he opens his eyes and counts the beams in the ceiling for a good long while, just listening to her breathe.

* * *

><p>Turns out Andy's a lot better at the whole silent treatment thing than he thought she would be.<p>

He kind of hoped that after they slept on it everything would be sort of work itself out but that definitely isn't what's happening here. She's completely ignored him ever since the alarm clock went off – not a single comment about how early it was or a fight about who had to shower first and who got to sleep a couple of minutes longer. She just got up and padded over to the bathroom. He even made coffee for her while she was in the shower but later found it sitting on the counter, untouched and lukewarm.

Andy ignoring coffee is almost as improbable as Andy not talking for long stretches of time – apparently he's witnessing history in the making here.

It's not like he's completely over it either – he's not, he's still pissed to be honest, but a full night of sleep has given him a _little_ perspective.

It's possible he overreacted, not that he's going to admit that to her.

She doesn't say a word to him the almost the entire morning, not until she's pulled up the warehouse and his hand's on the door handle, getting ready to push it open.

"Find out where he goes to mass," she tells him, eyes straight ahead.

It's takes him a second to register what she said. He blinks a couple of times and then asks, "What makes you think he goes to mass?"

Andy snorts in response. "He's Irish and he used to torture people," she mutters disparagingly, like it should be obvious. "Of course he goes to mass."

She has a point. "Fine," he agrees.

"Fine," she echoes back, voice full of attitude. She _still_ isn't looking at him, concentrating instead on the brick wall to her left inside, so he stares at her until she actually starts twitching in her seat. When she can't take it anymore she finally glances over at him, eyes flashing, and snaps, "What?"

Sam just purses his lips and shrugs, feigning innocence. "Nothing."

His response seems to irritate her even more. "You're going to be late," she tells him, tapping her nail against the digital clock on the dashboard.

He heaves out an exhale and opens then the door. "I'll see you later," he says, climbing out of his seat.

Andy doesn't reply, just watches with dark eyes until he's out of the car, mouth set in a hard line. This is normally the time she tells him to be careful and he must wait for her to say it for a half a second too long because she raises an eyebrow at him, annoyance clearly written all over her face.

"Good_bye,_" he says pointedly, like he's the one who's mature enough to rise above.

Andy just rolls her eyes and throws the car into drive, barely giving Sam enough time to shut the door and get out of the way before taking off.

Well. It's already shaping up to be a _fun_ day.

Brennan makes rounds everyday around ten – usually he just drops by each of the workstations and observes what's going on for a minute or so. Sam's been advised to just ignore him and keep working until he moves along.

Normally Sam's so engrossed in whatever he's doing that he doesn't even notice the man. Today, however, Brennan pats him on the shoulder to get his attention.

Sam feels his muscles tense up under the hand but he forces himself to relax before turning around. "Something I can do for you, boss?"

Brennan just shakes his head and then says, "Met your wife yesterday." His voice, as usual, is completely devoid of emotion.

"Yes sir, she mentioned that you dropped by," Sam replies, faking a casual tone as he sets down the box he was carrying and swipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. "She was glad she got to meet you."

"Likewise." Brennan squints at him for a second and Sam realizes he still has no idea how to read the man. "She's a sweet girl," he proclaims after a minute.

_Sweet _was probably the last adjective Sam would use to describe Andy at the very moment. He huffs a laugh and replies truthfully, "Can be, when she wants to be."

Brennan arches an eyebrow. "And when she doesn't?"

_Stubborn as a mule, reckless, temperamental_ and a whole host of other infuriating doesn't say anything of that though. Instead, he grins good-naturedly, playing the long-suffering-but-wouldn't-have-it-any-other-way husband, "She can give me hell when I deserve it."

The edges of Brennan's mouth twitch upwards at that, like maybe he can relate. "O'Connor and his wife and I are going out tonight. Alpine Inn, you know it?"

It's the last thing he's expecting to hear and Sam tries not to let surprise read on his face as he nods. "Out by the airport, yes sir."

"You should met us there around eight," Brennan says, starting to walk away. Over his shoulder, he calls back, "Bring Candace."

Sam watches him walk away, a little dumbfounded and, if he's being honest, a little impressed.

Okay, very impressed.

Brennan's a notoriously private person; he's been trying to get dirt on the man for a whole week and so far no one's been talking and he _certainly_ hasn't managed to wrangle an invite to hang out outside of work hours from him.

There are two possibilities here: Andy either totally blew their cover and they're going to show up at the Alpine Inn and get ambushed or she managed to crack some kind of wall – managed to get cold, callous, impersonal Brennan to like her.

He thinks back to when he first started working with her; how her wide-eyed enthusiasm and sincerity made him curious, made him want to get to know her better to find out if she was for real. No one could possibly be that childish – she stuck her tongue out at him the second day they worked together, right after he told her that she should've stuck to Oliver if she was hoping for a daily doughnut run – and that _brave_ at the same time.

Maybe it's her childishness that makes her brave, he doesn't know. The point is: she's endearing and he doesn't think they're going to be walking into an ambush.

He doesn't expect her to be waiting for him at lunchtime but she's in the same spot she always is so – that's a good thing.

"When you talk to Boyd today, tell him we're gonna need a couple of wires for tonight," he says after finishing his sandwich. It's the first thing they've said to each other since he lowered himself into the car.

Andy cuts her gaze over to him, skeptical. "Why?"

"Brennan wants us to meets him and the O'Connors at the Alpine Inn." He says it like its not a big deal but Andy doesn't buy it.

"Really?" she asks, brown eyes going big and round like clockwork. A grin plays on her lips and she does a terrible job of not looking smug.

"Yeah, really." And really – he does not want to make a big deal about this, otherwise who knows what other stupid stunts she might try and pull.

She schools her expression after a second, suddenly somber. "Since you're going to be there," she asks seriously, "Is it okay if I go?"

So. She's not quite over it yet.

Sam tries to ignore the pang of guilt he feels and lets out a frustrated sigh, "McNally…"

"I mean," she continues with mock earnestness. "I don't want to take any unnecessary risks. It might be _safer_ if I just say at home and you know, darn some socks or something. Do some knitting. Hey," she says, excited like it's the best idea she's ever had, "Maybe I can even get knocked up so I can be one of those barefoot and pregnant wives that stay in the kitchen all day long."

He rolls his eyes in response, not about to dignify her exaggerations with actual words.

"Except, no, wait. You actually have to have sex to get knocked so…" she trails off, shrugging her shoulders and wearing this fake, sweet smile. "Guess that's not happening anytime soon."

Subtlety has never been one of her strong points. "Hilarious," Sam replies.

Andy just smirks in a way that makes her whole face pinch up and then cocks her head, marveling, "I guess it's a good thing I made him coffee yesterday."

It's like she is absolutely itching for a fight. He pops a chip in his mouth and crunches down obnoxiously. "He probably would have invited us anyway."

"Hmm, maybe," she agrees flippantly. Then - "Probably not though."

* * *

><p>Andy's got the wires when he gets home.<p>

She's standing in the middle of the living room, shirt off, fiddling with the little microphone that's clipped to the cup of her bra.

Sam freezes when he sees her and does a very obvious double take, eyes glued to her tanned skin. It's not like he's never seen her like this before – he has, in less even – it's just that he gets a sudden flashback of where they got cut off the night before, her shirt pushed up over her breasts and how soft she was under his hand – he swallows thickly, not even meaning to, and mentally kicks himself. Hard.

When she notices him staring at her she screws up her face and _tsks _a bit, like she's offended or something, but then she doesn't even try and cover up so it must not bother her too much. Instead, she lifts the cell phone and says, "Alright, see if you can hear this." Lowering the phone, she speaks into the mic, "Testing, one… two… three…".

It's remarkably boring and mundane for Andy. Once, when he was fitting her for a wire, she sang _Secret Agent Man_ to him to test the mic and then proceeded to hum it anytime things got slow. He had the damn song stuck in his head for a week.

She brings the phone to her ear again; asking, "Got it?" Whoever is on the other line, he's assuming it's Boyd, must have said yes because a second later she's tugging her shirt back on and going through the process again. When she says his name he realizes he's _still _staring, despite the lack of exposed skin.

"Yeah, Sam just got back," she says, waving him over to join her in the living room. He shrugs off his coat first and then takes his time getting over there so it doesn't feel quite so _jump _and _how high._ "Yeah, we'll call you in a sec." Andy presses the button to end the call and then spins to face him. "Your turn," she states, plucking a second mic up off the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow, she asks, "Where do you want it?"

Well, apparently they're talking again.

"You uh…" Sam suddenly feels like he's got sand in his throat so he pauses for a second to cough. Better, he tells her, "You can just tape it to me." No one's going to be searching him so there's no need to be creative. The line of buttons down the front of his Henley will hide the tiny wire.

"Fine," she says, hands on her hips and all business. Nodding over at him, she instructs, "Take off your shirt." Sam grins automatically, tension aside he likes the way that pink blooms across her cheeks whenever he teases her, and she just rolls her eyes. "Not even like that, come on."

He does what she asks, reaching for the back of his shirt and yanking it and his undershirt over his head. Disappointingly, Andy doesn't even sneak a glance before look before jabbing the microphone to his sternum and telling him to hold it in place while she grabs the tape.

She's back in no time, cold fingers working quickly as she smoothes a short length of tape down on either side of the mic. "That good?"

Sam drops his chin so he can see. "Yeah, that's fine."

She frowns for a moment and grabs his shirt off of the coffee table and holds it up to him. "It's too far down," she decides, "The buttons won't cover it." Before he can protest she rips it off, taking a decent amount of hair along with it.

Sam hisses at the sting. "Shit, McNally," he says, rubbing at his chest. There's a red mark already forming. "That actually hurts, you know."

"Don't be such a baby," she replies, completely unsympathetic. She swipes her thumb over the mark a couple times though, ruffling the hair that's left, like she feels guilty.

Sam narrows his eyes accusingly. "You did that on purpose."

"Whatever," she scoffs, wrinkling her nose. She doesn't deny it.

He sighs. "You're gonna have to be nice to me tonight, you know," he tells her. "Candace actually _likes _JD."

"Yeah, well," she argues, poking the tape back down with a little more force than is strictly necessary to get it to stick. "JD doesn't try to tell Candace how to do her job."

So that's the crux of the issue; the fact that she thinks he thinks she doesn't know how to do her job. "Well, Candace is a _waitress_," Sam shoots back. "Not exactly a life threatening profession." Unlike _yours, _he wants to say but doesn't. It's implied though and he hopes that just this once she'll overthink it and realize what's he's actually saying – he just doesn't want her to die.

Really, that's why this whole stupid fight got started.

Andy snorts. "Shows how much you know," she mutters. Sam looks down, puzzled, and when she catches his eye she huffs, "What? Hungry people can get cranky." Covering the whole contraption with her hand, she presses down. "There," she declares, slapping his chest once. "Done. Call Boyd and make sure it works. I'm gonna go put some makeup on."

He watches her bounce off towards the bathroom and realizes that she's _excited_; practically buzzing with energy. He feels it too – their first big break. It's always a rush no matter how many times he's done it.

Thirty minutes and two outfit changes for Andy later, they're on their way. The bar's only a few minutes away, a shitty dump that Sam's been to before undercover with three-dollar beers and all the fried food you can eat.

Andy's probably going to love it.

She's quiet until they turn off the highway, fidgeting in her seat and fussing with the vents. "This car is a piece of crap," she tells him.

"Better than the squad car," he responds, bored.

"Yeah, but like – your truck has seat warmers," she says in this kind of wistful tone. Suddenly, Sam's not so bored. "I sorta miss it."

He cuts his eyes over to her and she's not even looking at him. "You miss my truck?" he asks, slow and not exactly a question.

"Yeah, it was nice. Kept my butt all warm and toasty," she answers, then looks over at him and makes a face. "What?"

He blinks a couple of times in response and then shifts his eyes back to the road. It's just – that's an oddly familiar thing to say to a person if you have no intention of actually riding in their truck again. Maybe she does – maybe this whole "it was a mistake" thing is her way of asking him to disregard whatever happened between them and go back to the way things were before, he doesn't know.

It was easier when she wasn't talking to him because at least he knew, at that moment, where they stood. Now that she's talking, and not clearing anything up, he's… confused. He's confused. If they weren't on their way somewhere this would be the moment that he would yank the car onto the shoulder and have a very serious conversation, as in: _what in the actual hell is going on here_?

As it is, there's no time for that and Andy seems supremely unconcerned with the mixed messages she's tossing out. "Anyway, so, quick recap," she says, briskly rubbing her hands together before jamming them under her thighs again. "The O'Connors…"

Sam shakes his head a little to clear all the thoughts that are running through his mind, like a fog lifting. "Mike and Cindy," he cuts in, because after spending an entire day in this state of unawareness it's nice to finally _know _something.

"Mike and Cindy," she repeats. "Right, so, they're Brennan's best friends. Cindy was Brennan's wife's cousin."

"Yep."

"Late thirties," she says, reciting what she's learned. "No kids."

He nods. "Uh huh."

"And Mike did time with Brennan."

"Yeah, he wasn't in as long though," Sam tells her, pulling into the small parking lot outside the motel. It snowed a couple of days ago, thick and wet, and water splashes out under the tires. "Only two years."

"Got it, right," Andy nods and her eyes are kind of darting side to side like she's reading off a piece of paper.

She's been keeping a ridiculous amount of notes; writes down everything he tells her in her loopy, girly handwriting, just like when she was fresh out of the academy. He got her to let him look through her little notepad once, a couple months after they started working together, telling her that as her training officer he needed to check. His coffee order was on the first page, starred and circled.

Sam throws the car into park but sits there for a second, letting it idle. Andy goes to open her door but when she realizes he's making not any attempt to leave just yet she glances over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Listen, Andy…" he starts, not really knowing what he wants to say.

"It's fine," she assures him immediately, like she thinks she can read his mind. "It's gonna be fine."

"Okay – " that's not exactly where he was going – he feels like they need to sort something out here, get on the same page.

"And I'm going to be nice to you," she promises, reaching across the console and stroking her hands from his shoulders down to the front of his chest, making fists in the lapels of his jacket.

Whether or not she's nice to him really isn't his main concern. He needs to know that her head's in the game and that in a second they're going to be able to get out of the car and be JD and Candace. "That's not – "

She tugs on his coat, interrupting him. "You know why?"

From her smartass grin, Sam bets he's not going to like the reason. Still, he takes a deep breath and humors her. "Why?"

Andy's grin falls and her face hardens. "Because I am a _professional, _Sam," she says, enunciating every word and staring him dead in the eye.

So. Her head's in the game.

And he's got no idea how she does it, but suddenly he's entertaining the idea of hauling her into the back seat, prissy smirk and all.

After she lets that sink in a minute, she zips his jacket up a little more; high enough that it makes him feel a little claustrophobic, like when the top button of a dress shirt is buttoned. "Now," she says, smoothing her hands out to his shoulders again, "Can we go?"

Sam smirks at her, jerks the zipper down so he can breathe again. "After you, sweetheart," he tells her, motioning to the door. A look flashes through Andy's eyes, a flare of annoyance, but then she's scowling back at him and pushing the door open.

He turns the ignition off and climbs out of the car, meeting her at the trunk. Looping her arm through his, she smiles up at him and all of a sudden they're JD and Candace, happily married couple.

When they get inside he glances around, looking for Brennan. It's Andy who spots the group first. "Over here", she says, pulling him in the direction of their table.

Sam gets his hand on the small of her back and lets her lead the way, weaving between tables and stools and people. Introductions are made and drinks are ordered and ten minutes later Sam's watching Andy tip back her beer and laugh with Cindy about something on _Ellen _the other day.

"A _sloth_," Andy says when she can catch her breath. "At a birthday party!"

Cindy just cracks up again, dark auburn hair falling forward as her shoulders shake. Sam's seen her up at the office a couple of times but it's the first time he's actually met her. She's pretty much the exact opposite of what he expected - talkative, loud, funny.

Mike, one of the most humorless people he's ever met, looks on, bored.

In a way he guesses it makes sense, opposites attracting and what not.

Brennan's been eyeing the whole thing curiously. "Do you have any idea what they're talking about?" he asks quietly, leaning over to Sam.

Sadly, he does. Andy pulled the video up on her phone a week or so ago and made him watch it half a dozen times while they were sitting on a house, waiting for a suspect who never showed up. Finally he got so sick of it he casually mentioned that the blonde girl looked a little like Monica.

"Not a clue, boss," he lies, smiling and taking a long pull of his own beer. He's got his hand on the back of Andy's chair, fingers threading through silky strands of hair. Every once and a while she'll look back at him and smile. He can't tell if it's a Candace thing of if Andy's just checking in with him, making sure she's doing it right.

Either way, he returns the smile, rubs her back.

"I heard this guy showed up at your apartment yesterday," Cindy says, gesturing across the table to Brennan. "Sorry, I've been trying to get him to stop doing that. It's weird."

Sam tries not to have a reaction to that but under his hand he can feel the muscles in Andy's back stiffen for just a moment, and then relax. He pushes some of her hair out of the way, strokes his thumb along her neck.

"It's not weird," Brennan protests, laughing a little – and he seems far more relaxed than Sam's ever seen him. He's actually smiling and cracking jokes, wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his normal business clothes. He doesn't appear to be particularly bothered by Cindy giving him a hard time.

"Yeah," Cindy insists, nodding vigorously. "It is. Wasn't it weird, Candace?"

Andy's cheeks flush when she's put on the spot but she just waves her hand. "Oh, no," she says, "It was fine."

"See," Brennan says, arching at eyebrow at Cindy and then tipping his head towards Andy, "Some people have manners."

"Right," Cindy snorts, "I swear to God, if some man were to show up on my doorstep claiming to be my husband's boss, I'd deadbolt the door and call the police."

Mike, speaking up for the first time, scoffs at his wife, "Cindy…"

"What?" she asks sharply. Taking a bite out of a french fry, she waves the rest of it around to make her point, "I would! You never know with people these days."

"Well, I mean… " Andy says, a little defensive – Sam kind of likes watching her squirm since someone else has pointed out her poor decision making. She looks back at him for help but he just raises an eyebrow, totally innocent and useless. Andy narrows her eyes just a smidge and then turns back around. "I've seen him up at the warehouse so I knew he wasn't a crazy psycho killer or anything."

For a second, Sam can't breathe and he thinks his heart might pound right out of his chest, blood thrumming in his ears so loudly that the noise of the bar is drowned out.

The entire table goes silent, three pairs of eyes just blinking back at them, and then Brennan, with this genuine smile, blue gaze twinkling as if Candace is just the most amusing girl he's ever met, says to Cindy. "Right. She knew who I was. Not weird."

Sam's not too sure how he feels about that – the fact that it's pretty obvious Brennan has a soft spot for Candace.

"Whatever," Cindy mutters, sipping her beer again.

Thankfully another topic's brought up and Sam feels like he can breathe again, gets his heart beat back down to normal like he's not running a marathon anymore.

Andy wiggles her neck a bit, not enough that anyone else would notice, but he realizes his grasp is pretty tight; thumb at her nape and fingers pressed into her shoulder. He relaxes his hand and trails his palm down the line of her back, letting his fingers fit into the patch of bare skin where her shirt's ridden up.

A minute later he feels her hand on his thigh and the scratch of short nails through the denim. The next time she looks back at him, he winks.

Eventually someone brings up pool and they wait for the next available table. Andy starts whining about how bad she is – and she is, she's terrible, Sam always tries to find some excuse to get out of being her partner at the Penny whenever money's on the line (it never really works, he's lost a decent chunk of change thanks to her) – but Cindy assures her there's no way she can be worse than she is.

Turns out – she is. Worse than Cindy, that is. And it's not even a bit she's doing for Candace; Sam can tell how frustrated she's getting because of how badly she's doing. They're playing couples, Brennan's watching on the sidelines. Andy volunteered to sit out so he could partner up with Sam, but he assured her it was fine and called winner.

After Andy scratches going after a six in the corner pocket, Brennan jokes, "JD, teach your wife how to play some pool so I don't lose all my money." He put a twenty down on JD and Candace before the game even started.

"Told you I wasn't good," Andy grumbles quietly, fitting herself in under Sam's arm as they wait for Mike to take his turn.

Sam presses a kiss to her temple and murmurs, "You're doin' great." From his vantage point he can see her cheeks twitch with a smile and then she leans into him more, sliding her hand all the way across his back and settling it at his waist. Sam kisses the top of her head again before turning back to the game.

The next time it's her turn, Sam takes a chance and leans right over her, helping her line up her shot. No one's paying too much attention to them at that moment, hockey into overtime on the TV in the corner and Kessel with the puck. She's pressed against him from her shoulder all the way down to her hip, like a hot brand down the front of his chest, and when she wiggles even closer into him he's about eighty percent certain it's on purpose.

His lips are right at her ear as he tells her what to do, vanilla and honey shampoo smell making it a little difficult to think. The shirt she's wearing is ridiculous, it's got this row of buttons down the back and with how close they are together the plastic digs into him. Andy sinks a four and when she asks, "That good?" he's not sure if she's talking about the game or the fact that she just pushed her ass right back against him.

Sam chokes out an answer and watches her miss her next shot.

Mike's up again and Sam pulls her away from the table with an arm around her waist, keeping her in front of him until his back hits the wall behind them. Andy giggles a little as her body melts into his, warm and loose and heavy. "What're you doing?" he mutters, settling his chin on her shoulder.

Andy glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm being nice," she replies – this innocent voice that totally belies the look in her eye. "What do you think I'm doing?"

He thinks she's doing a whole lot of other things but the wire's still on and that look in her eye isn't exactly sarcasm or scorn; he can't put his finger on it but it's not the way she's been looking at him for the past twenty-four hours.

Instead of answering he tilts his head and nips a bit at the curve of her jaw, teeth and then softer, just lips, until he hears her stifle a noise that rises in her throat. When her fingers dig into his arm and she hisses out her next breath he smiles against her neck, quickly pecks her cheeks, and then pulls away. "Nice, huh?" he whispers, hitching his arm up higher so she's flush against him as he leans back to the wall.

Andy doesn't say anything, just relaxes against him as they watch Mike clear the table. All in all Sam's not too disappointed with the loss; his thumb's absently stroking against her ribs and every once and while when he misses and grazes the underside of her breast, he can feel a shiver run through her whole body.

He does it again a couple of times on purpose.

Brennan takes over and Cindy begs out of the next round, comes to stand right beside them, chattering away about… something, Sam doesn't know. He behaves then, loosens his grip and keeps his hand planted at Andy's hip, beer bottle in the other.

Andy does all of the talking, thank God. He hears something about her needing a job as she groans and slumps dramatically against him.

Cindy perks up at that; eyes round and brow arched. "What kind of experience do you have?"

"Not much," Andy admits, frowning. "I waitressed back in St. Catherine's and before that I worked as a temp in a couple of offices…" Sam keeps his grin to himself. There was an ad online the day before; Brennan's company needs an office assistant. "Paperwork and filing and all that," she finishes. "I'm pretty good on the computer."

"Hmm… let me talk to Mike," Cindy tells her. "He may have something for you."

Andy grins, wide and bright. "Oh wow, thank you," she says. "That… that would be great."

"Yeah, of course," Cindy replies, "I mean, I can't promise anything but…" she trails off, shrugging.

"No, I totally understand," Andy assures her. "Really, I appreciate all the help I can get at this point."

"No problem," Cindy says, moving right along to the next subject. A couple of minutes later Sam excuses himself to the men's room – Andy squeezes his hand before he leaves.

Andy's waiting for him when he comes out – chewing on her nail and glancing out of the little hallway into the bar, completely distracted by something so she doesn't even notice Sam until he calls her name.

Well, Candace's name.

Her head whips around, brown hair swirling, and when she meets his eye she looks a little sheepish. "Oh hey," she says quietly. "I just…" she checks to make sure they're alone again and then grabs hold of his wrist, pulling him back into the dark corner so they're partially hidden by one of those old telephone banks, cheap laminate peeling away from the wood.

Sam follows willingly – he's more than a little interested in what's about to happen here.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she says, looping her fingers through his belt loops and tugging him closer.

His brow furrows. "'Bout what?"

Andy hesitates for just a second, nervously biting on her bottom lip, hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of her front teeth, but then surprises him by reaching out sneaking her hand up under the front of his shirt.

"What're you…?" he starts to ask, but realization dawns as her fingernail hits the tiny mic, switching it off.

Well.

That was pretty much the last thing he was expecting her to do.

Honestly stunned, Sam licks his very dry lips and a slow grin begins to spread across his face s she pulls her hand back out, warm palm open all the way down to the buckle of his belt, fingers dipping quickly into his waistband. "Oookay," he breathes out in a laugh, brain finally starting to catch up.

Andy smiles back at him, a shred less nervous now, and motions in the general direction of her chest. "You gonna…?"

And there are a thousand different reasons why he shouldn't, why he should turn his mic back on and pull her back out to the pool tables, rejoin whatever's going on out there, but –

He doesn't do that.

He doesn't even try and hide his grin as he pushes her back a little, gets her flat against the wall with one arm braced up by her head. He stares at her for another beat, making sure he knows what she's asking. She's looking at him with these big brown eyes, clear and trusting and just a hint of a dare; like she's wondering if he's actually gonna do it.

And this is stupid. This is really, incredibly stupid, but –

Her stomach muscles contract as he slides his hand over her belly, fluttering lightly under his fingertips. He goes slowly deliberately and when he reaches her bra her breathing's changed and her lip's caught between her teeth again, waiting for his next move.

Sam takes a deep breath and then cups his hand up over her bra, thumb flicking off the mic. Half a second later she's gasping against his lips as he kisses his way into her mouth, arms tight around his neck and hips arching up against him.

"We're actually gonna have to talk about this, ya know," he tells her between kisses. Some of it comes out muffled, words bitten off halfway through and somewhere in the back of his mind Sam remembers that it's only been _a day_, that neither of them should be this desperate – all over each other in a dark, dingy bar; drug deals going on right above their heads and actual killers waiting for them to buy the next round of drinks.

It's not ideal but Andy nods in his arms anyway. "I know," she promises, fingers digging into his back and lips slicking along his jaw. One of her legs is curled around his, crook of her knee at his thigh and holding him tight against her. Sam smoothes his hand up her leg, hitches it a little higher. "I know, I just… I didn't mean it."

He knows what's she's talking about, of course he does, he's been running the words through his mind ever since she said them, but he needs to hear her say it so – "Didn't mean what?" he asks, nipping at the soft skin behind her ear.

Andy whimpers a little in response and lets her head thump back against the wall, not answering him.

Sam pinches her through the material of her bra – dumb, this is _so_ dumb – not that hard but hard enough to make her gasp. "Didn't mean what?" he repeats, just barely stopping himself from calling her McNally.

Andy squeezes her eyes shut and swallows, he can feel her throat working under his lips, but when he pinches her again she inhales sharply and answers, words coming out in a rush, "That this was a mistake, I didn't mean it."

Tearing his lips away from her neck, Sam touches his forehead to hers, noses bumping, and stares at her for a long minute. She holds his gaze, not even blinking or showing any sign of regret. Finally he lets out a sigh. "Yeah?" he asks, already feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Yeah," she nods, voice quiet and soft. Her hands have relaxed against his back, making slow, sweeping patterns up and down and when he kisses her again it's unhurried and gentle, both of them smiling against each other and little light-headed.

They need to stop, they do, get things turned back on and straightened back out but –

It's not until the cellphone rings a couple of minutes later that they actually break apart.

Sam groans and untangles his hand from her hair to reach into his pocket. "This is JD," he answers, even though only one person has the number.

"Oh, good," Boyd says on the other line, tone pitched up and feigning surprise. "You're alive."

"Yeah, we're here," Sam says, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Andy's looking at him anxiously, like maybe something's wrong, so he rolls his eyes and winks at her, letting her know it's not a big deal. She lets out a breath and visibly relaxes, smiling. Sam tweaks her hair, still grinning way too hard.

"Crazy coincidence," Boyd rambles on, clearly not buying the _coincidence _angle, "Somehow both your wires got shut off at the same damn time."

Sam _tsks. _"That _is _crazy," he agrees. "I don't know how that happened."

The other man snorts. "Right. Just turn 'em back on. Now."

"Will do," Sam promises, ending the call.

"Busted," Andy sing-songs, grinning.

Sam wants to bite at her pretty smile but refrains. "Hey, you're the one that pulled me back here," he reminds her, feeling about hundred times lighter than he did thirty minutes earlier. He tips his chin to her mic, "You want me to, uh…" he trails off, raising an eyebrow.

At first she looks confused and glances down to see if something's on her shirt, but after a second she gets it. "Oh," she says, cheeks flushing like she's embarrassed. "I got it," she tells him, turning her shoulder into him so her back's to the entrance of the hallway.

Sam grins and leans against the phone bank, shielding her from anyone that might walk in as she messes around under her shirt. Without even bothering to ask she slips her hand up to his mic and turns it back on, smoothing his shirt out when she's finished.

"We'll talk later, yeah?" she asks, suddenly shy and looking up at him from under thick lashes with those wide, bambi eyes.

"Yeah, later," he promises, kissing her one last time before taking her hand and tugging her back into the bar. "Let's see if anyone's up for a rematch."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: <strong>If you haven't seen the sloth video on Ellen, google "Kristen Bell sloth" and prepare to be entertained!


End file.
